LETTER LXXVI.
REFERRING TO THE MOSQUITO AS A TEST OF HUMAN NATURE, EXPLAINING THE LONG HALT OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE, AND NOTING THE COURT OF INQUIRY ON CAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN.
WASHINGTON, D. C., October 26th, 1862.
Early this morning, my boy, I sauntered across the Long Bridge and tookmy seat upon the topmost rail of a fence enclosing a trampled meadow.There I sat, like Marius, my boy, contemplating the architectural ruinembodied in my Gothic steed, Pegasus, and ever and anon whistlingabstractedly to my frescoed dog, Bologna.
By the gods! I really love these dumb friends of mine. The speculativeeye of the world sees in poor Pegasus nothing more than anarchitectural dream--the church architecture of the future--and, I mustconfess, my boy, that the Gothic charger _does_ look something like askeleton chapel at a distance; it sees in Bologna only a mongrel cur,whose taste for the calves of human legs is an epicurean outrage onwalking society. But for me, my boy, there is a human pathos in thepatient fidelity of these zoological curiosities which appeals to mybest manhood. I have had a hard and thankless life of it; my experiencewith the knowing political chaps of the Sixth Ward was enough to grindeverything like human tenderness out of my nature, and make me turninto an arrogant and contemptuous misanthrope; but there are times whenthe cold nose of Pegasus against my cheek, or a wag from that speakingtail of Bologna--which curls up behind him like a note ofinterrogation, to ask how his master feels--will give me such asensation of wishing to protect and be kind to the Helpless, that Ifeel myself a better man for the practical Christianity of such humblesociety.
There is my mosquito, the youthful Humboldt, too! He came to me onenight, about two years ago, my boy, practising much profound strategyto capture my nose; and when I foiled him by a free use of both arms ofthe service, the unterrified and humming manner in which he changed thebase of his operations and came on again, excited my admiration andrespect. Catching him in a little net cage made from the musquito barsof my bed, I kept him safely by me, and now use him as a test of humannature. In God's providence, each minute created thing has itsappointed use, my boy, and depend upon it, the use of the musquito isto test human nature.
There was a veteran political chap from Albany called upon me lastSunday night. A sage and aged chap of infinite vest, who wears thebroad-brimmed hat of reticent respectability, and nestles in muchshirt-collar like a centuried owl. Having taken a pinch of snuff afterthe dirty manner of a Gentleman of the Old School, he merely paused totake a hasty glance at the plan for the next Senatorial election in hisnote book, and then says he:
"I'm grievously dis'pointed, yea, piteously vexed, to see the partisanspirit raging so furiously in State elections, at a time when anexpiring country calls upon all her sons, irrespective of party, tojoin hands in the great work of saving her. Why cannot these turbulentdenouncers of each other be like me, who recognize no division of partyin this national crisis? I would have a union of all men to vote forthe one great ticket of my choice; and even the democrat I wouldrecognize as a fellow being in such a case."
I suspected this grievous old chap to be a hypocrite, my boy, and Imanaged to let Humboldt free from his cage for the purpose of testinghim. As the aged chap commenced to get warm, Humboldt began to makeraids round his sagacious head, and with divers slaps in the air, theaged chap waxed spirited, and says he;
"Pshoo! pshoo!--As I was saying, we should all strive to conciliate ourpolitical adversaries--pshoo! and endeavor to promote a spirit of unityeven with the most disaffected peace men--pshoo, you beast!--and notact like Greeley and Wendell Phillips, and Beecher--confound it,pshoo!--and other infernal fanatics; who, by their indiscreet,imprudent--curse it, pshoo!--and infernal, God-forsaken niggerism, arewounding the tenderest feelings--thunder and lightning, pshoo!--androusing the hellish passions of really good democrats, who thereby makecapital from their sadly mistaken--blazes and blue lightning,pshoo!--and devilish craziness, which is unfortunately confusing--goodheavens, pshoo, pshoo!--and damning their own party, and knockingthunder out of the gubernatorial canvass; besides--besides--"
Here this aged chap made a flying leap at Humboldt, missed his aim, andthen dashed madly from the room.
Depend upon it, my boy, a musquito is a great test of human nature. Thelittle chap operates like an outside conscience, and brings the realthing to the surface.
Why does not the Mackerel Brigade advance?
This, my boy, is the question of the hour. For what do our heroes wait?Is it for india-rubbers, or umbrellas, or fine-tooth combs? No! be notdeceived: it is for none of these.
Hem! The fact is, my boy, many respectable though married Mackerelsentered the army of the Accomac when they were in the prime of life;and as old age steals softly upon them, as the seasons and the bases ofoperations run through their changes, and year succeeds year, theeye-sight of many of them waxes dim, and fails in the process ofNature. I know some thousands of Mackerels, my boy, who are already soblind that they have not seen a rebel for six months; and hence, noadvance-movement can be judiciously made until the brigade is suppliedwith spectacles. Without these, the idolized General of the MackerelBrigade will not do anything until he gets ready. It was the want ofthese, as I now discover, that prevented our troops seeing the SouthernConfederacy when he made his late raid across Awlkwyet River. Let thespectacles be at once procured, my boy; or an indignant and bleedingnation will at once demand a change in the Cabinet.
Company 3, Regiment 5, is the only Company yet fitted with glasses, andwas therefore selected to make a reconnoissance toward Paris, underColonel Wobert Wobinson, on Tuesday afternoon, for the purpose ofdiscovering whether the Confederacies there were very tired of waitingyet. Glaring through their spectacles, these gallant beings advanceduntil they met a Parrot shell going the other way, and then returnedwith hasty discipline, bringing with them a captured contraband, whowas so anxious to remain in their company that he actually ran veryfast.
Upon regaining the camp in Accomac, my boy, the colonel had theintelligent contraband brought before him, and says he:
"If I mistake not, friend Africa, you were escaping from the bonds ofoppression when we took you?"
The intelligent contraband shifted a silver soup-ladle from one pocketto the other, and says he:
"Yes, mars'r colonel, I hab left my ole mars'r for de good of hisbressed soul." Here the attached bondman sniffed and shook his head.
"Are you pious?" says Colonel Wobinson, much affected by such anexample of humble devotion.
"Yes, mars'r I is dat," says the fond creature, wiping his brow with asilk vest from his dress-coat pocket, "and I wished to save my olemars'r from de sin of de wicked. I know dat it was wrong for him to ownniggas, and dat he was more sinful de more he done it. And I run away,Mars'r Colonel, to save dat ole man's bressum soul from any more dam."
Colonel Wobinson took off his spectacles in order that the steam fromhis tears might not dim them, and says he:
"I had not looked for this in one so black. Leave those silver spoonswith me, friend Africa, and I will send them to my wife. Sergeant,convey this dark being, who has taught us all such a lesson ofself-sacrifice, to the chaplain; and tell the chaplain to look out forhis pocket."
How beautiful is it, my boy, to see in the uncouth, unlettered slave, aspirit of piety so shiningly practical. When I beheld the brutalizedbondman evince such signs of religion, I am reminded of those tenderand precocious little babes, who sometimes delight their mothers withexalted utterances of the like, and am inclined to believe that oneknows just as much about it as the other does.
It pains me to say, my boy, that Captain Villiam Brown so far forgothimself on Wednesday, upon discovering the non-arrival of thespectacles, that he used language of an incendiary description againstthe beloved General of the Mackerel Brigade, thereby proving himself tobe one of those crazy fanatics who are trying to ruin our distractedcountry. He said, my boy, that the adored General of the
MackerelBrigade was a dead-beat, and furthermore observed that he would be verysorry to take his word.
Such language could not pass unnoticed, and a Court of Inquiry,composed of Captains Bob Shorty, Samyule Sa-mith, and Colonel WobertWobinson, was instantly called. The Court had a decanter and tumbleronly, to aid its deliberations, it being determined by the WarDepartment that no fact which could be detected even by the aid of aglass, should go uninspected.
Villiam having been summoned to the presence, Samyule declared theCourt in session, and says he:
"The sad duty has become ours, to investigate certain charges against abrother in arms which has heretofore been the mirror of chivalry. It isspecified against him:
"'_First_--That said Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, did affirm,declare, avow, testify, and articulate, with his tongue, licker, andorgan of speech, that the General of the Mackerel Brigade was adead-beat.
"'_Second_--That aforesaid Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, didproclaim, utter, enunciate, fulminate and swear, that he would not takethe word of the General of the Mackerel Brigade.'
"What has the culprit to say to these charges? Did he say that ouridolized Commander was a dead-beat?"
Villiam smiled calmly, and says he: "The chaste remark exactly fits theorifice of my lips."
"Confine yourself to English," says Colonel Wobinson, majestically."What do you mean by the observation?"
"Why," says Villiam, pleasantly, "I meant, that before he was beaten hemust be dead. And after death, you know," says Villiam, reaching onehand abstractedly toward the decanter, "after death, you know, we mustall _b'eaten_ by worms."
This explanation, my boy, was satisfactory, and conveyed a grave morallesson; but the court felt convinced that the second charge couldnot be thus simply answered.
Captain Samyule Sa-mith set down the tumbler for a moment, and says he:
"You're not guilty on the first count, Villiam; but didn't you say thatyou wouldn't take the word of the General of the Mackerel Brigade?"
"Which I did," says Villiam.
"And what excuse have you to offer, my trooper?" says Captain BobShorty, pointing the question with his spoon.
"Is the general a gentleman?" says Villiam, searchingly.
The court believed him to be such.
"Ah!" says Villiam, "then if he's a gentleman, he always _keeps_ hisword, and of course it is impossible to _take_ it."
Verdict of "not guilty, with a recommendation to mercy."
Courts of Inquiry, my boy, are calculated to draw out the rich humor ofmilitary character, and are equally useful and appropriate with allother jokes, in times of devastating war.
Yours, smilingly, ORPHEUS C. KERR.