The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, Series 1

by R. H. Newell

  "'I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not Hannah More.'"

  When the southern Union man read this twistification, he put his paperwhere his wife couldn't see it (she being a very jealous woman), andwent out to cowhide the editor. He cowhided him, by frantically placingthe cowhide in the editor's hands, and then running his back repeatedlyagainst the weapon. Typographical errors have a unique effect inreports of killed and wounded, my boy; but they knock the Prometheanblaze out of eloquence.

  Having transacted my business with the editor, and read a dispatch,just received from a Gentleman of Eminence, stating that Beauregard,who was at Okolonna, had a force of 120,000 men; but that Halleck wouldprobably succeed in putting the entire 80,000 to flight beforeBeauregard could return from Richmond; though it was currently reportedthat the rebels were sixty thousand strong, and General Pope must beexpeditious if he wanted to capture the whole 10,000 before GeneralBeauregard got back from the Shenandoah valley; I turned to the editor,and says I:

  "How does newspaper business pay now, my gifted Censor?"

  He sighed, as he shoved a demijohn further under his desk, and says he:

  "There's only one newspaper in the world that pays now, sonny:

  "What's that?" says I.

  "The Paris _Pays_," says he.

  I left him immediately, my boy. Ordinary depravity don't affect me, forI have known several Congressmen in my time; but I can't stand abnormaliniquity.

  Arriving at Paris I found that a recent shower had made Duck Lakenavigable, and Commodore Head was preparing his fleet to attack asecession squadron, which some covert rebel had built during the nightfor the purpose of annoying the Mackerels in Paris.

  "Batter my plates!" says the commodore, cholerically, "I could capturethat poor cuss easily, if I only had a proper pilot."

  As Duck Lake is only about four yards wide at a freshet, my boy, yourignorance may suggest no sufficient reason for a pilot in such a case;but you are no martial mariner, my boy.

  Luckily the man for the place was at hand. On Wednesday, a glossycontraband, in a three-story shirt-collar, and looking like a fountainof black ink with a strong wind blowing against it, came into Paris,and surrendered to Captain Villiam Brown.

  "Ha!" says Villiam, replacing the newspaper that had just blown offfrom two lemons and a wicker flask on the table, "what says our cousinAfrica?"

  "Mars'r Vandal," says the faithful black, earnestly, "I hab importantnews to combobicate. I knows all de secrets of de rebel Scratchetary ofthe Navy. True as you lib, Mars'r Vandal, so help me gad, I'se decoachman of de pirate Sumter."

  "Ah!" says Villiam, cautiously, "tell me, blessed shade, what has acoachman got to drive on board a vessel?"

  The true-hearted contraband modestly eyed a wonder of the insectkingdom which he had just removed from his hair, and says he:

  "I drove de ingine, mars'r."

  That was enough, my boy. Having learned from this intelligent creaturewhat the rebel Secretary was going to have for dinner next Sunday, andwhat the Secretary's wife said in her letter to her mother, Villiamordered him to act as pilot on the Mackerel Fleet.

  And now let me draw a long breath before I attempt to describe thatterrific and sanguinary naval engagement, which proved conclusivelywhat Europe may expect, if Europe bother us with any more bigoddnonsense.

  Having ballasted with mortar, my boy, to seem more naval, theunblushing commodore mounted his swivel-gun at the bow of the MackerelFleet, and selected for his gunner and crew a middle-aged Mackerelchap, whose great fondness for fresh fish made him invaluable for oceanservice.

  "Crack my turret!" says the commodore, as the Fleet pushed off amid thecheers of Company 4, Regiment 1, Mackerel Brigade; "I'll take thatcraft by compound fracture. Belay the starboard ram there, yousalamander, and take a reef in the grating. Up with the signal--twostrips of pig iron rampant, with a sheet of tin in the middle."

  All this was splendidly performed by the crew, my boy, who trimmed therudder, did the rowing, and tended the gun--all at once. The craftfairly flew through the water in the direction of the rebel craft,whose horse-pistol amidship still remained silent.

  It was an awfully terrific and sublime sight, my boy. I shall neverforget it, my boy, if I live till I perish.

  The faithful colored pilot sat in the stern of the Fleet, examiningsome silver spoons which he had found somewhere in the SouthernConfederacy, and we could see the noble old commodore mixing somethingthat steamed in the fore-sheets.

  Two seconds had now passed since our flotilla had started, and thehostile squadrons were rubbing against each other. We were expecting tosee our navy go through some intricate manoeuvre before boarding,when the Mackerel crew accidentally dropped a spark from his pipe onthe touch-hole of the swivel; and bang! went that horrid engine ofdestruction, sending some pounds of old nails right square into thecity of Paris.

  Simultaneously, four-and-twenty foreign Consuls residing near Paris gotup a memorial to Commodore Head, protesting against any more firingwhile any foreigners remained in the country, and declaring that theuse of gunpowder was an outrage on civilized warfare and the rights ofman. They tied a stone to this significant document and threw it toCommodore Head, who instantly put the Mackerel crew on half rations andforbid smoking abaft the big gun.

  Meanwhile the enemy had wounded our brave pilot on the shins with hisoar, and exploded his horse-pistol in an undecided direction, with suchdreadful concussion that every glass in Commodore Head's spectacles wasbroken.

  It was at this dreadful crisis of the fight that the gay Mackerel crewleaned over the side of our fleet, placed one hand on the inside of theenemy's squadron, and with the other, regardless of the shower ofold-bottles and fish-bones flying about him, deliberately bored a smallhole, with a gimlet, through the bottom of the adversary. At about thesame moment the commodore touched off the swivel-gun at the enemy'srudder, and threw one of his boots against the rear stomach of therebel captain.

  This sickening carnage might have lasted five minutes longer, had notthe Confederate squadron sunk in consequence of the gimlet-hole. Downwent the doomed craft of unblest treason, and in another moment theofficer and crew of her were in the water, which reached nearly totheir knees, imploring our fleet not to let them drown.

  Oh, that sight! the thrilling yet terrifying and agonizing grandeur ofthat dreadful moment! shall I ever forget it--ever cease to hear thosecries ringing in mine ears? I'm afraid not, my boy--I'm afraid not.

  The Commodore rescued the sufferers from a watery grave; and havingbeen privately informed by them that the South might be conquered, butnever overcome, brought them ashore by the collars.

  Need I describe how our noble old nautical sea-dog was received by theMackerel Brigade? need I tell how the band whipped out his key-bugleand played all the triumphant airs of our distracted country, andseveral original cavatinas?

  But, alas! my boy, this iron-plate business is taking all the romanceout of the navy. How different is the modern from

  THE ANCIENT CAPTAIN.

  The smiles of an evening were shed on the sea, And its wave-lips laughed through their beardings of foam; And the eyes of an evening were mirrored beneath The shroud of the ship and her home.

  And as Time knows an end, so that sea knew a shore, Afar in a beautiful, tropical clime, Where Love with the Life of each being is blent, In a soft, psychological Rhyme.

  Oh, grand was the shore, when deserted and still It breasted the silver-mailed hosts of the Deep! And like the last bulwark of Nature it seemed, 'Twixt Death and an Innocent's sleep.

  But grander it was to the eyes of a knight, When clad in his armor he stood on the sands, And held to his bosom its essence of Life-- An heiress of titles and lands.

  Ah, fondly he gazed on the face of the maid! And blush-spoken fondness replied to his look; While heart answered heart with a feverish beat, And hand pressed the hand that it took.
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  "Fair lady of mine," said the knight, stooping low, "Before I depart for the banquet of Death, I crave a new draught from the fountain of Life, Whose waters are all in thy breath.

  "The breast that is filled with thine image alone, May safely defy the dread tempest of steel; For while all its thoughts are of love and of thee, What peril of Self can it feel?"

  He paused; and the silence that followed his words, Was spread like a Hope, 'twixt a Dream and a Truth; And in it, his fancy created a world Wrought out of the dreams of his youth.

  Then shadows crept over the beautiful face Turned up to the sky in the pale streaming light, As shadows sweep over the orient pearl, Far down in the river at night.

  "You're going," she said, "where the fleets are in leash, Where plumed is a knight for each wave of the sea; Yet all the wide Ocean shall have but One wave, One ship and One sailor for me!"

  He left her, as leaveth the god of a dream The portals that close with a heavier sleep; And then, as he sprang to the shallop in wait, The rowers pushed off in the Deep.

  When a captain leaves his lady-fair nowadays, my boy, he's not aneconomical man if he don't destroy his life-insurance policy, and defermaking his will.

  Yours, navally,

  ORPHEUS C. KERR.

  LETTER LI.

  GIVING DUE PROMINENCE ONCE MORE TO THE CONSERVATIVE ELEMENT, NOTING ACAT-AND-DOG AFFAIR, AND REPORTING CAPTAIN BOB SHORTY'S FORAGINGEXPEDITION.

  WASHINGTON, D.C., June 23d, 1862.

  Not wishing to expire prematurely of inanity, my boy, I started againlast Sunday for Paris, where I took up my quarters with a dignifiedconservative chap from the Border States, who came on for the expresspurpose of informing the Executive that Kentucky is determined this warshall be carried on without detriment to the material interests of theSouth, otherwise Kentucky will not be answerable for herself. Kentuckyhas married into the South, and has relations there which she refusesto sacrifice. What does the Constitution say about Kentucky? Why, itdon't say anything about her. "Which is clear proof," says theconservative chap, violently, "that Kentucky is expected to take careof herself. Kentucky," says he, buttoning his vest over the handle ofhis bowie-knife. "Kentucky will stand no nonsense whatsomever."

  I have much respect for Kentucky, my boy; they play a good hand of OldSledge there, and train up a child in the way he should go fiftybetter; but Kentucky reminds me of a chap I once knew in the SixthWard. This chap hired a room with another chap, and the two wereengaged in the dollar-jewelry business. Their stock in trade was morenumerous than valuable, my boy, and a man couldn't steal it withoutsuffering a most painful swindle; but the two dilapidaries were all thetime afraid of thieves; and at last, when a gentleman of suspiciousaspect moved into the lower part of the house, and flavored hisfamiliar conversation with such terms as "swag," "kinchin," and"coppers," the second chap insisted upon buying a watch-dog. The firstchap said he didn't like dogs, but if his partner thought they'd betterhave one, he would not object to his buying it. The second chap boughta sausagacious animal in white and yellow, my boy--an animal coveredwith bark that pealed off in large pieces all night long. The firstchap found he couldn't sleep much, and says he:

  "If you don't kill that ere stentorian beast we'll have to dissolvepardnership."

  His partner took a thoughtful chew of tobacco, and says he:

  "That intelligent dorg is a defending of your property as well as mine,and if we put up with his strains a little while longer, the chap downstairs will understand the hint and make friends."

  With that the first chap flamed up, and says he:

  "I sold a breast-pin to the chap down stairs the other day, and foundout that he considers the dollar-jewelry business the same by nature ashis own. I'm beginning to think we misjudged him, and I can't have nodog kept here to worry him. Our lease of these here premises don't sayanything about keeping a dog," says the chap, reflectively, "nor ourarticles of pardnership, and I refuse to sanction the dog any longer."

  So the dog was sent to the pound, my boy, and that same night theburglarious gentleman downstairs walked off with the dollar-jewelry, incompany with the first chap, leaving the poor second chap to makehimself uselessly disagreeable at the police-office, and set up anapple-stand for support.

  Far be it from me, my boy, to say that certain Border States are likethe first chap; but if Uncle Sam should happen to be the second chaplet him hold on to the watch-dog.

  Speaking of dogs, I must tell you about a felis-itous canine incidentthat occurred while I was at Paris. Early one morning, the Kentuckychap and I were awakened by a great noise in the hall outside our door.Presently an aged and reliable contraband stuck his head into the room,and says he:

  "I golly, mars'r, dar's a big fight goin' on in dis yar place."

  At the word, my boy, we both sprang up and went to the door, fromwhence we beheld one of those occurrences but too common in thisdreadful war of brother against brother.

  Face to face in the hall stood my frescoed dog, Bologna, and theregimental cat Lord Mortimer, eyeing each other with looks of deadlyhatred and embittered animosity. High in air curved the back of theenraged Mortimer, and his whiskers worked with intense wrath; whilstthe eloquent tail of the infuriated Bologna shot into the atmospherelike a living flag-staff.

  "Oh-h-h! How-now?" ejaculated Bologna, throwing out his nose toreconnoitre the enemy's first line.

  "'Sdeath!--'Sdeath!" hastily retorted Mortimer, skirmishing along inhis first parallel with spasmodic clawing.

  And now, my boy, commenced a series of scientific manoeuvres that onlyRussell, of the _London Times_, could describe properly. Lord Mortimeradvanced circularly to the attack in four columns, affrighting the airwith horrid yells of defiance; and I noticed, with a feeling ofmysterious awe, that his eyes had turned a dreadful and livid green,whilst an expression of inexpressible bitterness overspread hiscountenance.

  Fathoming the enemy's plan at a glance, Bologna presented his front andrear divisions alternately, to distract the fire of the foe; and then,by a rapid and skillful flank movement, cut off a portion of LordMortimer's tail from the main body.

  This reminded me of General Mitchell's tactics, my boy.

  Here the conservative Kentucky chap wanted to stop the fight. Says he:

  "Mortimer will be forever alienated if he loses any more of his tail. Iprotest against the dog's teeth," says he; "for they'll render futurereconciliation between the two impossible. Let him use his paws alone,"says the conservative chap, reasoningly, "and he won't injureMortimer's constitution so much."

  "You're too late with your talk about conciliation, my noble Cicero,"says I. "It's the cat's nature to show affection for his young ones,even, by licking them, and Mortimer will never be convinced thatBologna cares for him until he has been soundly licked by him."

  "Ah--well," says the Kentucky chap, vaguely, "let hostilities proceed."

  Finding that the enemy had cut off a portion of his train in the rear,Mortimer quickly massed his four columns and precipitated them upon thehead of Bologna's two front divisions, succeeding in destroying a barkhalf launched, and driving him back four feet.

  "Hurroar for Mortimer!" says the Kentucky chap; and then he burst intothe Conservative Virginia National Anthem:

  "John Smith's body lies a-mouldering in the grave, 'Twas him that Pocahontas risked her father's wrath to save; And unto old Virginia certain Chivalry she gave, That still go scalping on!"

  "Calm your exultation, my impulsive Catiline," says I, "and behold thetriumph of Bologna."

  Undaunted by the last claws of the foe's argument, my boy, the frescoeddog hurled back the torrent of invasion, and, with a howl of triumph,charged headlong upon Mortimer's works, routing the foe, who retreatedunder cover of a cloud of fur.

  I looked at the conservative Kentucky chap, my boy, and I could see byhis expression that it would be useless for me to ask of
him acontribution toward rewarding Bologna with a star-spangled kennel. Hestill felt neutral, my boy.

  I had intended to remain in Paris all the week; but on receiving atelegraphic dispatch from the General of the Mackerel Brigade to attenda Strawberry Festival he was about to give in this city, I hastenedhither. For I am very fond of the gay and festive strawberry, my boy,on account of its resemblance to one of the hues in our distractedbanner.

  The Strawberry Festival was given in an upper room at Willard's, andthe arrangement of the fruit would have provoked an appetite in amarble statue. At short intervals around the table were strawberries infours, supported by pedestals of broken ice, which was kept in positionby a fluid of pleasing color, and walled in by a circular edging ofthin glass. Strips of lemon and oranges garnished the rich fruit, andfrom their midst sprang up a dainty mint plant, and a graceful hollowstraw.

  When the festival was in full operation, my boy, the General of theMackerel Brigade arose to his feet, and waved his straw for silence.Says he:

  "My children, though this strawberry festival is ostensibly for thepurpose of encouraging fruit culture by the United States of America,it has yet a deeper purpose. The democratic party," says the general,paternally, "is about to be born again, and it is time to makepreparation for the next Presidential election in 1865. I must go toAlbany and Syracuse, and see the State Conventions; after which I mustattend to the re-organization of the party in New York city. Then I goto Pennsylvania to do stump duty for a year; and from thence, to--"