The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, Series 3 by R. H. Newell
LETTER LXXXVI.
TOUCHING UPON A LATE OVATION TO A PARENT OF HIS COUNTRY; GIVING THE CONSERVATIVE KENTUCKY MAP OF ALL AMERICA; AND INTRODUCING A SECOND NEW GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL ORGANIZATION.
WASHINGTON, D.C., March 8th, 1863.
I have been very ill, my boy--I have been very ill; and even now, thehand which grasps the pen trembles with weakness, like the hand of thewind upon a slender rush. I have been reminded of my latter end, and ofour Excellent National Democratic Organization, by an outrage upon myConstitution and the Arbitrary Arrest of my health,--proceedings whichseem to prove that the well-known Southern Confederacy is entirelyright in this war, and that the North is chiefly composed of Honest Olddespots. (See proceedings of Democratic Organization, Resolution 290.)
As I lay sick in Strategy Hall the other day, so desolately lonely thatI almost wished to die, and without energy enough to finish reading thegreenback I had commenced that morning, there came to see me an affableDemocratic chap who had just recovered from a severe bilious attackbrought on by the Conscription Bill, and wished to consult me as to thepropriety of nominating Dr. Brandreth for President of the UnitedStates in 1865.
"Why, my future Jefferson," says I, feebly, "what are you going to dowith McClellan, then?"
"Really," says he, just stepping across the ward to spit on a copy ofthe Tribune, which served as a window-curtain, "really, I forgot allabout that manly form. Oh!" says the pleasant Democratic chap,replacing the Constitution in his hat, from which it had justfallen,--"Oh! what heroism do we find embodied in that youthful shape!The voice of a assembled universe asks: 'Shall G. B. McClellan gounrewarded?' There is no echo at the time. It asks again: 'Who, then,shall be President of the United States in 1865?' And echo triumphantlyanswers, General George Barnum McClellan!"
Here the affable Democratic chap took off his spectacles, my boy, andbeamed undisguisedly at a small black bottle on the table.
"But," says I, softly, "his name is not George _Barnum_ McClellan atall. His middle name is not Barnum."
"Hem!" says the Democratic chap, with a severe aspect, "I don't knowthat it is. Really," says the Democratic chap, hastily picking up hisumbrella and moving away, "really, I don't know that it is."
Mistakes, my boy, will happen in the best-regulated organizations; and,if we construe them maliciously, we deserve, like a parcel ofscandal-mongering old Bohea-mians, to be confined all our lives tosmall _coups_ of Phineas T.
It was during my illness that the adoring citizens of Mugvillediscovered that the Venerable Gammon had been defeated ten times in theelection for County Clerk in his youth, and frantically instigated anoverflowing ovation therefore to that venerable man. I know not, myboy, what this aged and shirt-collared picture of perpetual beneficencehad done to be such an idol. I cannot conceive why repeated defeats inhis youth should entitle him to the adoration of a fond populace at thepresent exciting period; but the leading citizens presented him with asilver butter-knife and a serenade, my boy; and he made a benignantspeech to show that he and Providence desired only the applause oftheir own consciences.
"My children," says the Venerable Gammon, waving benefactions in hisfat and heartfelt manner, "I accept this butter-knife,--not for my ownmerits, but because it symbolizes the only true means of restoring thatUnion of which I am a part. This knife," says the Venerable Gammon,eying the costly gift with oily and benignant satisfaction,--"thisknife teaches us that only fiendish Abolitionism would think of usingthe Sword of Radicalism to conquer the erring Confederacy which isstill our sister, when the Butter-knife of Conservatism was to be had."
Then all the leading citizens of Mugville observed joyfully to eachother that the country was redeemed at last, and four-and-twentyreliable morning journals published six columns each about thetriumphant progress of the Venerable Gammon in the affections of thepeople.
Among those present at this sublime ovation was an aged chap sellingapples, who immediately burst into tears when the voice of thevenerable man fell upon his ears. On being asked to explain hisemotions, he cast his dim eyes upward toward an American flag which wasbeing used by a merchant near by to advertise some patent pills, andsays he, brokenly:
"When I hear that woice, and see that flag, all my manhood crumblesinto scalding tears."
He was an apple-seller of fine feelings, and had once served as adeserter in the Army of the Potomac.
Pathetic little incidents like these, my boy, humble though they maybe, are pregnant with a deep and touching meaning, of which I have notthe remotest conception.
There is a new Mackerel Hotel recently erected on the borders of DuckLake, near Strategy Hall, for the benefit of Brigadiers who have notbeen accustomed to doing without a bar; and it was in one of the roomsthereof that the Conservative Kentucky Chap recently fell a victim tothe most remarkable optical illusion of this distracted century. He wassitting with his back to a window, my boy, his head drooped upon hisbreast beneath the weight of the Emancipation Proclamation, and, witharms folded and legs screwed awry on his chair, he was contemplatingthe opposite wall from under his Conservative hat.
"Hum," says he, with subdued ecstasy, "How sweet it is to look upon themap of my native land, of which Kentucky is the guiding star! As I lookupon that simple map," says the conservative Chap, thoughtfully, "andreflect upon the recent improvements in Kentucky, it becomes a questionin my mind whether Kentucky is the United States, or the United Statesis Kentucky."
Following the direction of his eyes as he said this, I beheld upon thewall opposite where he was sitting:
A CONSERVATIVE KENTUCKY MAP OF ALL AMERICA.]
"Look here, my absorbed Talleyrand," says I, in astonishment, "that'snot a map! It's only your own shadow on the wall."
He moved as I spoke, and then, for the first time, discovered hisillusion.
"Hum!" says he, "it is a map of the Union in the sense that the Unionis but a shadow of its former self."
The Conservative Kentucky Chap is actually so insufferably egotistical,my boy, and so imbued with the idea that Kentucky is the whole country,that it is almost impossible for him to sit on a chair without throwinghis body into almost the exact shape of the American Continent.
Having induced a small Mackerel drummer to bring me my chastearchitectual steed, the Gothic Pegasus, I mounted the roof of thatwalking country church, and moved off in an organ-waltz to inspect thenational troops.
The Mackerel Brigade grows hoary with antiquity, and the capture of theSouthern Confederacy is still delayed for the want of pontoons. Andthis reminds me that the Abolitionists of New England, who are entirelyresponsible for this war, with its taxes upon members of the DemocraticOrganization, have not yet sent any pontoons to the field. Whilst theywould abridge the rights of white men, they even ignore white men'srights to a bridge. But let us not linger over such depravity, or weshall be delayed in our preparations for the Presidential canvass in1865.
The last new General of the Mackerel Brigade is an officer of greatage, named Cox,--known to the soldiery as the Grim Old FightingCox,--and I am happy to say, my boy, that he is an officer of greatability. Spurning all that vain pomp which too often makes our generalsas clean in appearance as the military minions of the despotic powersof Europe, he makes it a practice to attire himself like theunostentatious dustman of a true Republic; and when he rides abroad toinspect the regiments, it is universally admitted that he is like afather visiting his children, whose great numbers make such demandsupon his means that he can't afford to dress himself respectably.
Having assumed command of the Mackerel Brigade, the Grim Old FightingCox immediately summoned all his officers to his presence, and, havingengaged each in single combat and defeated him, he proceeded to showhis great ability. He beckoned to Captain Villiam Brown, who was atthat moment taking the sun's altitude with his canteen, and, says he:"Tell me how many men are in the guard-house for beastly intoxication?"
Villiam smiled affably, and says he: "I don't remember just how manythat
"Release them ALL!" thundered the Grim Old Fighting Cox, violentlyrattling his sword, and firing a pistol in the air.
"Ah!" says Villiam, "here's Ability."
The next officer called was Captain Bob Shorty, and says the General tohim: "How many slow-matches did my predecessor order for the OrangeCounty Howitzers?"
Captain Bob Shorty took three steps in a break-down, and says he: "Wehave always ordered seventy-five."
"Make it seventy-six!" roared the Grim Old Fighting Cox, kicking overthe writing-table and discharging a revolver over his shoulder.
Captain Bob Shorty gave a leap into the air, and says he:
"By all that's Federal! did I ever hear of so much Ability?"
As the Grim Old Fighting Cox was leaving his quarters, he came upon aMackerel chap who was stooping down to tie his shoe, and gave him akick that kindled conflagration in his vision. The poor chap rubbinglypicked himself up, and, says he:
"It appears to me I never see so much Ability."
Ability, my boy, in its modern acceptation as applied to military men,appears to mean a peculiar capacity for surprising and startlingeverybody--except the enemy.
Yours, suspiciously.
ORPHEUS C. KERR.