The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, Series 1

by R. H. Newell

  When Captain Villiam Brown, surveyed this spectacle, my boy, his browsknit with portentous anger, and says he:

  "So much for wasting so much time. Ah!" says Villiam, clutchingconvulsively at his canteen, "we have met the enemy, and they arehours--ahead of us."

  The only thing noticeable we found, my boy, upon searching the latestamping ground of the Southern Confederacy, was a beautiful "romaunt,"evidently written by an oppressed Southern Union man, who had gone frombad to verse, and descriptive of

  THE SOUTHERN VOLUNTEER'S FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE.

  Fresh from snuff-dipping to his arms she went, And he, a quid removing from his mouth, Pressed her in anguish to his manly breast And spat twice, longingly, toward the South.

  "Zara," he said, and hiccup'd as he spoke, "Indeed I find it most (hic) 'stremely hard To leave my wife, my niggers, and my debts, And march to glory with the 'Davis Guard;'

  "But all to arms the South has called her sons, And while there's something Southern hands can steal, You can't (hic) 'spect me to stay here at home With heartless duns for ever at my heel.

  "To-night a hen-coop falls; and in a week We'll take the Yankee capital, I think; But should it prove (hic) 'pedient not to do't, Why, then, we'll take--in short, we'll take a drink.

  "I reckon I may perish in the strife-- Some bullet in the back might lay me low-- And as my business needs attendin' to, I'll give you some directions ere I go.

  "That cotton-gin I haven't paid for yet-- The Yankee trusted for it, dear, you know, And it's a most (hic) 'stremely doubtful thing, Whether it's ever used again, or no.

  "If Yankee's agent calls while I am gone, It's my (hic) 'spress command and wish, that you Denounce him for an abolition spy, And have him hung before his note is due.

  "That octoroon--who made you jealous, love-- Who sews so well and is so pale a thing; She keeps her husband, Sambo, from his work-- You'd better sell her--well, for what she'll bring.

  "In case your purse runs low while I'm away-- There's Dinah's children--two (hic) 'spensive whelps; They won't bring much the way the markets are, But then you know how every little helps.

  "And there's that Yankee schoolmistress, you know, Who taught our darlings how to read and spell; Now don't (hic) 'spend a cent to pay _her_ bill; If she aren't tarred and feathered, she'll do well!

  "And now, my dear, I go where booty calls, I leave my whisky, cotton-crop, and thee; Pray, that in battle I may not (hic) 'spire, And when you lick the niggers think of me.

  "If on some mournful summer afternoon They should bring home to you your warrior dead, Inter me with a toothpick in my hand, And write a last (hic) _jacet_ o'er my head."

  We found this in the shed lately used by the chivalric Constarveracy asa guard-house, my boy, and read it with deep emotion.

  Yours, Manassastonished,

  ORPHEUS C. KERR.

  LETTER XXXVI.

  CONCERNING THE WEAKNESSES OF GREAT MEN, THE CURIOUS MISTAKE OF AFRATERNAL MACKEREL, AND THE REMARKABLE ALLITERATIVE PERFORMANCE OFCAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN.

  WASHINGTON, D.C., March 20th, 1862.

  When a wise, benign, but not altogether Rhode-Island Providence saw fitto deal out a few mountains to Eastern Tennessee and Western Virginia,my boy, it is barely possible that Providence had an eye to the presentcrisis of our subtracted country, and intended to furnish the comingAbe with a fit place for the lofty accommodation of such great men aswere not in immediate demand among the politicians. I am nottopographical by nature, my boy; I never went up to the top of theWhite Mountains to see the sun rise, and didn't see; nor did I everscale Mount Blanc for the purpose of allowing a fog to settle on mylungs; but it's my private opinion, my boy, my private opinion, that,were it not for the perpendicular elevations of the earth's surface inthe States named, it would be necessary for the honest Old Abe eitherto turn General Fremont into a reduced Consul, and commission him tofurnish proofs of the nation's reverence for the name of Lafayette, orcoop him up somewhere in solitary grandeur, like a rabbit in a Warren.

  "Great men," says the General of the Mackerel Brigade, as he and I werelooking at some sugar together, the other night, through concaveglasses--"great men," says he, "are like the ears of black-and-tanterriers; they are good for ornaments, but you must cut off some ofthem when you would give them rats. Thunder!" says the general, takinga perpendicular view of the sugar--"if we didn't cut off great menoccasionally, there'd be more presidential nominations to ratify nextelection than ever before struck terrier to the heart of an old-linewhig."

  But you have yet to learn, my boy, what was _the_ great reason forsending Fremont to the everlasting hills. On Tuesday I asked a knowingveteran at Willard's what it really was. He looked at me for a momentin immovable silence; then he softly placed his spoon-gymnasium on atable, looked cautiously in all directions, crept up to my ear ontiptoe, and says he:

  "_Kerridges!_"

  "Son of a bottle!" says I, "your information is about as intelligibleas the ordinary remarks of Ralph Waldo Emerson."

  The knowing veteran suffered his nose to take a steam-bath for amoment, and then says he:

  "Kerridges! Kerridges with six horses and the American flag flyingout of the back window. Fremont's great mistake at the West waskerridges--_and_ six horses. Did he wish to buy some shoe-strings forhis babes--'Captain Poneyowiski,' says he to his chamberlain, 'orderthe second steward to tell the scarlet-and-grey groom to send thekerridge and six horses round to the door, with a full band on thebox.' Did he wish to make a call on the next block and obtain some Bathnote-paper--'General Nockmynoseoff,' says he to his first esquire inwaiting, 'issue a proclamation to my Master in Chancery to instantlycommand the Master of the Horse to get ready the kerridge with sixhorses, and send the Life-Guard to clear the way.' In fact," says theknowing veteran, frowning mysteriously, "it is rumored that when hecame home from Debar's theatre one night, and found the front door ofhis head-quarters accidentally locked, he instantly ordered up thekerridge _and_ six horses, to take him round to the back entrance.Now," says the knowing veteran, suddenly striking the table a glassblow that splashed, and assuming an air of embittered argument--"they'vesent him to the mountains to suppress his kerridge."

  This explanation, my boy, may be all a fiction, but certain it is thatGeneral Fremont has not the carriage he had six months ago.

  On Wednesday the gothic steed Pegasus bore me once more to Manassas,where I found the Mackerel Brigade vowing vengeance for the recentrebel atrocities, of which I found many outrageous evidences.

  Just as I arrived on the ground, my boy, a Mackerel chap came runningout of a deserted rebel tent with a round object in his hand, andimmediately commenced to tear his hair and speak the language of theSixth Ward.

  "My brother! my brother!" says he, eyeing his horrible trophy withtearful emotion. "O! that I should live to see your beloved skullturned into a cheese-box by rebels! You was a Boston alderman, a moralman, and a candidate for the Legislature, before you came to this herehorrid war to be killed by rebels, and have your skull aggravated intoa secession utensil."

  Here the General of the Mackerel Brigade glanced at the heart-sickeningtrophy, and says he to the Mackerel chap:

  "Why, you poor ignorant cuss! that there is nothing but acocoanut-shell hollowed out."

  "Is it?" says the inferior Mackerel, brightening up, "is it? Well,"says he, feelingly, "I took it for the skull of my brother, the BostonAlderman--it's so hard and thick."

  These beautiful displays of fraternal emotion are quite frequent, myboy, and are calculated to shed a lustre of sanctity over thediscoveries of our troops.

  The capture of Richmond being deferred until the younger drummers ofthe brigade are old enough to vote in that city, I found CaptainVilliam Brown and Captain Bob Shorty seated at a table in a tent--theformer being engaged with
a pen and a decanter, while the latter drew amap of the campaign with a piece of lemon-peel dipped in somethingfragrant.

  It was beautiful to look at these two slashing heroes, as they satthere in the genial glare of canvas-strained noon-day, with a quartvessel between them.

  "Comrade," says Captain Bob Shorty to me, cordially, "this here is whatwe call intellectual relaxation, with a few liquid vowels to make itconsonant with our tastes."

  "Yes!" says Captain Villiam Brown, with a fascinating and elaboratewink at the decanter, "the physical man having taken Manassas, thehuman intelleck is now in airy play. Ah!" says Villiam, majesticallypassing me the disentangled curl-paper on which he had been writing,"read what I have penned for the perusal of the United States ofAmerica."

  I grasped the document, my boy, and found on it inscribed the followingefficacious effusion:

  FLOYD.

  Felonious Floyd, far-famed for falsifying, Forever first from Federal forces flying, From fabrications fanning Fortune's flame, Finds foul Fugacity factitious Fame.

  Fool! facile Fabler! Fugitive flagitious! Fear for Futurity, Filcher fictitious! Fame forced from Folly, finding fawners fled, Feeds final Failure--failure fungus-fed.

  By CAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN, Eskevire.

  "Well, my juvenile Union-blue," says Villiam, smiling like a successfulcherubim, "what do you think of that piece of American intelleck?"

  "I think," says I, "that it is worthy of an F. F. V."

  What followed, my boy, is none of your business, though a sentry nearby subsequently observed that he heard the sound of soft, mellifluousgurgles come from the interior of the tent.

  Poetry, my boy, is man's best gift; and that, I suppose, is the reasonwhy it is so popular in young women's boarding-schools.

  Yours, in particular metre,

  ORPHEUS C. KERR.

  LETTER XXXVII.

  DESCRIBING THE REMARKABLE STRATEGICAL MOVEMENT OF THE CONIC SECTION,UNDER CAPTAIN BOB SHORTY.

  WASHINGTON, D.C., March 28th, 1862.

  The most interesting natural curiosity here, next to Secretary Welles'beard, is the office of the Secretary of the Interior. Covered withspider-webs, and clothed in the dust of ages, my boy, sit the Secretaryand his clerks, like so many respectable mummies in a neglectedpyramid. The Department of the Interior, my boy, is in a humorouscondition; the sales of public lands for the past year amount to aboutten shillings, the only buyer being a conservative Dutchman from NewJersey, who hasn't heard about the war yet.

  These things weigh upon my spirit, and I was glad to order up my Gothicstallion, Pegasus, the other day, and rattle down to Manassas oncemore.

  Upon reaching that celebrated field of Mars, my boy, I found theGeneral of the Mackerel Brigade in his tent, surrounded by telegraphicinstruments and railroad maps, while the Conic Section was drawn up inline outside.

  "You appear to be much absorbed, my venerable Spartan," says I to theGeneral, as I handled the diaphanous vessel he was using as an act-dropin the theatre of war.

  The General frowned like an obdurate parent refusing to let his onlydaughter marry a coal-heaver, and says he:

  "I'm absorbed in strategy. Eighteen months ago, I was informed by acontraband that sixty thousand unnatural rebels were intrenchedsomewhere near here, and having returned the contraband to his master,to be immediately shot, I resolved to overwhelm the rebels by strategy.Thunder!" says the General, perspiring like a pitcher of ice-water inJune, "if there's anything equal to diplomacy it's strategy. And now,"says the General, sternly, "it's my duty to order you to write nothingabout this to the papers. You write about my movements; the paperspublish it, and are sent here; my adjutant takes the papers to therebels; and so, you see, my plans are all known. I have no choice butto suppress you."

  "But," says I, "you might more surely keep the news from the rebels byarresting the adjutant."

  "Thunder!" says the general, "I never thought of that before."

  Great men, my boy, are never so great but that they can profitoccasionally by a suggestion from the humblest of the species. I onceknew a very great man who went home one night in a shower, and washorrified at discovering that he could not get his umbrella through thefront door. He was a very great man, understood Sanscrit, made speechesthat nobody could comprehend, and had relatives in Beacon-street,Boston. There he stood in the rain, my boy, pushing his umbrella thisway and that way, turning it endways and sideways, holding it at acuteangles and obtuse angles; but still it wouldn't go through the door,nor anything like it. By-and-by there came along a chap of humbleattainments, who sung out:

  "What's the matter, old three-and-sixpence?"

  The great man turned pantingly round, and says he:

  "Ah, my friend, I cannot get my umbrella into the house. I've beentrying for half an hour to wedge it through the door, but I can't getit through and know not how to act."

  The humble chap stood under a gas-light, my boy, and by the gleamsthereof his mouth was observed to pucker loaferishly.

  "Hev you tried the experiment of _shutting up_ that air umbrella?" sayshe.

  The great man gave a start, and says he:

  "Per Jovem! I didn't think to do that."

  And he shut his umbrella and went in peacefully.

  The Conic Section was to make its great strategic movement, my boy,under Captain Bob Shorty; and, led by that fearless warrior, it set outat twilight. Onward tramped the heroes according to Hardee, for aboutan hour, and then they reached a queer-looking little house with agreat deal of piazza and a very little ground-floor. With his capcocked very much over one eye, Captain Bob Shorty knocked at the door,and was answered by a young maiden of about forty-two.

  "Hast seen any troops pass here of late?" asked Captain Bob Shorty,with much dignity.

  The Southern maiden, who was a First Family, sniffed indignantly, andsays she:

  "I reckon not, poor hireling Hessian."

  "Forward--double-quick--march!" says Captain Bob Shorty, with muchvehemence; "that ere young woman has been eating onions."

  Onward, right onward through the darkness, went the Conic Section ofthe Mackerel Brigade, eager to engage the rebel foe and work out thegenius of strategy. Half an hour, and another house was reached. Inresponse to the captain's knock a son of chivalry stuck his head out ofa window, and says he:

  "There's nobody at home."

  "Peace, ignoramius!" says Captain Bob Shorty, majestically; "the UnitedStates of America wishes to know if you have seen any troops go byto-night."

  "Yes," says the chivalry, "my sister saw a company go by just now, Ireckon."

  "Forward--double-quick--march!" says Captain Bob Shorty, "we can catchthe Confederacy alive if we're quick enough."

  And now, my boy, the march was resumed with new vigor, for it wascertain that the enemy was right in front, and might be strategicallyannihilated. A long time passed, however, without the discovery of asoul, and it was after midnight when the next house was gained.

  A small black contraband came to the door, and says he:

  "By gorry, mars'r sogerum, what you hab?"

  "Tell me, young Christy's minstrel," says Captain Bob Shorty, "have anytroops passed here to-night?"

  The contraband turned a summerset, and says he:

  "Mars' and misses hab seen two companies dis berry night, so helpumGod."

  "Forward--double-quick--march!" says Captain Bob Shorty. "Two companiesis rather heavy for this here band of Spartans, but it is sweet to diefor one's country."

  The march went on, my boy, until we got to the next house, where theinmates refused to appear, but shouted that they had seen _three_companies go past. At this Captain Bob Shorty was heard to scratch hishead in the darkness, and says he:

  "This here strategy is a good thing at decent odds: but when it's threeto one, it's more respectable to have all quiet on the Potomac. Halt,fellow wictims, and let us wait here until the daily sun is issued bythe divine editor."

  The orb of light was
calmly stealing up the east, my boy, when CaptainBob Shorty sprang from his blanket and observed the house, before whichthe Conic Section was encamped, with protruding eyes.

  "By all that's blue!" says Captain Bob Shorty, "if that ain't the werryidentical house where we saw the vinegar maiden last night!"

  And so it was, my boy! The Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade hadbeen going round and round on a private race-course all night, stoppingfour times at the same judge's stand, and going after their own tails,like so many humorous cats.

  Strategy, my boy, is a profound science, and don't cost more than twomillions a day, while the money lasts.

  Yours, in deep cogitation,

  ORPHEUS C. KERR.

  LETTER XXXVIII.

  INTRODUCING THE VERITABLE "HYMN OF THE CONTRABANDS," WITH EMANCIPATIONMUSIC, AND DESCRIBING THE TERRIFIC COMBAT A LA MAIN BETWEEN CAPTAINVILLIAM BROWN, OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, AND CAPTAIN MUNCHAUSEN,OF THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY.

  WASHINGTON, D.C., April 4th, 1862.

  Knowing you to be a connoisseur in horse-flesh, my boy, it is butproper I should tell you that I have leased my steed, the gothicPegasus, for a few days to an army carpenter, that gentleman havingexpressed a wish to use my architectural animal as a model for some newbarracks. Pegasus, my boy, when viewed lengthwise, presents aperspective not unlike a Hoboken cottage, and eminent builders tell methat his back is the very beau ideal of a combination roof. I sent aside-view photograph of the fiery stallion to a venerable grandmothernot long since, and she wrote back that she was glad to see I had myquarters elevated on piles to avoid dampness, but should think the hutwould smoke with such a crooked chimney! The old lady is rather hard ofhearing, my boy, and makes trifling mistakes without her spectacles.