LETTER LVI.
WHEREIN ARE PRESENTED SOME FEMININE REFERENCES, AN ANECDOTE BY THE EXECUTIVE, AND CERTAIN NOTES OF A VISIT TO THE FESTIVE SHENANDOAH VALLEY.
WASHINGTON, D. C., July 19th, 1862.
Permit me to return thanks through your mail, my boy, for a largefeather fan recently consigned to my address by one of the admiringWomen of America. It looks like a tail freshly plucked from alarge-sized American eagle, and is decorated with a French-plate mirrorin the centre and other French plates around the edges. Thekind-hearted woman of America (who writes from Boston) says in herpresentation note--"I admire to see a fan in the hands of the sternersex; for it shows that the same hero-fist that grasps the sword hasenough inherent gentleness to wave the cooling bauble. Such is life.The hand which falls like a hundred pounds of granite on the flinty eyeof his ke-yuntery's foes has the softness of a blessing when itcaresses the golden head of plastic childhood.
Yours, gushingly, Zephyrina Percy."
I find the "cooling bauble" very useful to brush the flies from mygothic steed Pegasus, my boy, and am a fanatic "to this extent, nomore."
And here is what another young woman of America says to me in a note:
"My ma requests me to tell you that you ought to be ashamed ofyourself, you hateful thing, for encouraging the vulgar people to be infavor of this nasty war, that is causing their superiors so muchtrouble, and has driven away the opera, and made enemies of those niceSoutherners, with their beautiful big eyes and elegant swearing. Whydon't you advocate a compromise, or a Habeas Corpus, or some otherpaper with names to it, and get Mr. Lincoln to stop the Constitutionand order the war to be ended before there's any more assassinationsand things? My pa was once a leather banker, and sold shoes forplantation servants, and made a great deal of money by it; but now he'sa captain, or a surveyor, or some ridiculous thing, of the Home Guard,and may be massacred in cold blood the first time there's a battle inour neighborhood. My pa has to go to drill every night, and when hecomes home in the morning he's so worn out with exhaustion that I'veknown him to lay right down in the hall and shed tears. My ma oftensays, that if Beauregard, or Palmerston, or any other foes shouldattack our house while pa is in that state, it would kill her dead. AndI know it would make me so nervous that I should be a perfect frightfor a week. My brother, Adolphus, has likewise joined the Home Guard,and has already had a bloody engagement with a Southerner named Tailor,who used to sell him clothes when the two sections were at peace.Adolphus says if it hadn't been for his double-quick, or someridiculous military thing or other, he would have been made a prisoner.It makes me sick to see how much lowness there is about Adolphus sincehe joined the ridiculous army; he calls his dinner 'rations,' andaddresses me as 'Corporal Lollypop,' (the absurd thing!) and calls ma'scrinoline a 'counter-scarp.'
"My pa says that he shall have to sell the carriage and the beautifuldog-cart if this hateful war don't end by the first of next month; andwhen I asked him yesterday if we couldn't have the gothic villa next tothe Jones's at Newport this summer, he actually swore! The Joneses, youknow, are very pleasant, sociable, vulgar sort of people, with a littlemoney; and it would kill me to see them putting on airs over us becausewe didn't happen to take a cottage with bow-windows like them. My pasays that old Jones has got a contract to make clothes for thesoldiers, and has made a great deal of money by manufacturing coats andother ridiculous things out of blue paper instead of cloth. AugustusJones says if he don't meet me at Newport this summer he will enlist assoon as he comes back; and it would be just like the absurd creature todo it. I don't see why pa can't get out an indictment or somethingagainst the blockade, and call on the postmaster or some otherridiculous thing to send his new stock of plantation shoes to Alabamaunder a guard, and bring back the money. I don't see the use of livingin a republic if one can't do that much. My ma says that you newspaperpeople could stop the dreadful war if you would only advocatecompromises and things, and not be so ridiculous. Why can't you leaveout some of those absurd advertisements, and publish an article tellingMr. Lincoln that the war is ruining society? If it continues muchlonger, I shall have to wear my last year's bonnet a whole month, andI'd rather die. Do say something absurd, you ridiculous thing."
Have the war stopped right away, my boy,--have the war stopped rightaway.
Matters and things here are still in a strategic condition, and naughthas disturbed our monotony, for a week, save a story they tell aboutthe Honest Old Abe. It seems that two of the conservative Border Statechaps, who are here for the express purpose of protesting againsteverything whatever, had a discussion about the Honest Abe, and onechap bet the other chap five dollars that he couldn't, by any possiblemeans, speak to the President without hearing a small anecdote.
"Done!" says the other chap, gleefully, "I'll take the bet."
That very same night, at about twelve o'clock, he tore frantically upto the White House, and commenced thundering at the door like KingRichard at the gates of Ascalon. The Honest Abe stuck his night-cappedhead out of the window, and says he:
"Is that you, Mr. Seward?"
"No, sir," says the Border State chap, glaring up through the darkness."I'm a messenger from the army. Another great strategic movement hastaken place, and our whole army have been taken prisoners by theSouthern Confederacy. In fact," says the conservative chap,frantically, "the backbone of the rebellion is broken AGAIN."
"Hem!" says the Honest Abe, shaking a musquito from his nightcap, "thisstrategy reminds me of a little story. There was a man, out in Iowa,sat down to play a game of checkers with another man, inducing hisfriends around him to lend him the change necessary for stakes. Heplayed and he played, and he lost the first game. Then he played muchmore cautiously, and lost the next game. His friends commenced togrumble; but, says he: 'Don't you worry yourselves, boys, and I'll showyou a cute move pretty soon.' So he played, and he played, and he lostthe third game. 'Don't be impatient, boys,' says he; 'you'll see thatgreat move pretty soon, I tell you.' Then he played with great care,taking a long time to consider every move, and, by way of change, lostthe fourth game. Close attention to what he was about, and much minutecalculation, also enabled him to lose the fifth game. By this time hisfriends had lent him all their change, and began to think it was timefor that great move of his to come off. 'Have you any more change?'says he. 'Why, no,' says they. 'Then,' says he, with great spirit, 'thetime for that move I was telling you about has come at last.' As hecommenced to rise from his chair, instead of continuing to play, hiscleaned-out friends bethought themselves to ask him what that famousmove was? 'Why,' says he, pleasantly, 'it's to move off for a littlemore change.'"
At the conclusion of this quaint tale, my boy, the Border State chapfled groaning to his quarters at Willard's, stuck a five-dollarTreasury Note under the pillow of the other Border State chap, andimmediately took the evening train for the West.
Such is the story they tell, my boy; but I'm inclined to accept itmerely as a work of fiction, with a truthful moral. Certain it is, thatas strategy increases, small change grows scarcer, and it is thegeneral opinion that no small change is needed in military matters.
In company with a patriotic democratic chap, who had come up from NewYork, for the express purpose of seeing that the negroes of theSouthern Confederacy were not permitted to inform our forces of themovements of the enemy in contravention of the Constitution, I made areconnoissance in force, on Monday, to the festive Shenandoah Valley.On our way thither, the democratic chap was greatly bitten bymusquitos, for which he justly blamed the black republicans, who aretrying to break up this Government, and on our arrival near Winchester,we stumbled upon a phlegmatic fellow-man in a swallow-tailed coat andgreen spectacles, who was seated on a stone by the roadside, readingthe "Impending Crisis." The democratic chap passed on, swearing, to thenearest camp; but I paused before this interesting student.
"Well, old swallow-tails," says I, affably, "what are yo
u doing in thissection?"
He looked up at me with great severity of countenance, and says he: "Ihave come here, young man, to agitate the Negro Question; to openAfrican schools; and, peradventure, to start a water cureestablishment."
"What for?" says I.
"For the love of my species," says he, eagerly, "and for any littlecontract in the way of red breeches and spelling books that may berequired for the reclaimed contrabands?"
Was this a case of purely disinterested philanthropy? Perhaps so, myboy, perhaps so; but the old swallow-tails reminded of a chap I onceknew in the Sixth Ward. He was a high toned moral chap of muchshirt-collar, with a voice that sounded like a mosquito in the bottomof a fish-horn, and a chin like a creased apple-dumpling. Years beforehe had married a Southern crinoline and talked about the glories ofslavery in a polished and high-moral way; but as there happened justthen to be a chance for him to run for alderman on the abolitionticket, he experienced a change of heart, and addressed a meeting onthe evils of human bondage: "My friends," says he, patting his stomachin a heartfelt manner, "I once lived at the South and owned slaves; butnever could I feel that it was right. My pastor would say to me: 'Thesemen-slaves are black, you say; but have they not the same feelings withyou, the same features--only handsomer?' I felt this to be so, myfriends; I commenced to appreciate the enormity of holding human soulsin bondage."
Here a susceptible venerable maiden in the audience became sooverpowered by her emotions, that she placed her head in the lap of arespectable single gentleman, and fainted away.
"My friends," continued the high-toned moral chap, "I could not bearthe stings of conscience; my nights were sleepless, but I slept duringthe day. There was I, pretending to be a Christian, yet holding men andwomen as chattels! Heavens himself was outraged by it, and I resolvedto make a sacrifice for the sake of principle--to cease to be aslaveholder! I called my slaves together: I addressed them paternallyand piously, and then I--(here the great, scalding tears rolled downthe cheeks of the orator, and the audience sobbed horribly)--I badethem be good boys and girls, and then I--SOLD EVERY ONE OF THEM!"
* * * * *
There was a movement of the audience toward the door. Men and womenwent out silently from the place, exchanging covert glances ofsmothered agitation with each other. Only one person remained with theorator. It was an old file with a blue umbrella, who had occupied aback seat and paid breathless attention to all the performances. Afterthe others had left the hall, he walked deliberately from his seat towhere the high-toned moral chap was still standing, and gazed into theface of the latter with an expression of unmitigated wonder. He thenwalked twice around him; having done which he confronted him again,thumped the ferule of his umbrella on the floor, and says he: "Well!"The old file paused an instant, and then says he: "well, I'll be dam,"and waddled precipitately from the place.
I've often thought of it since then, my boy; and I've always wonderedwhy it was that the solitary old file with the blue umbrella should saythat he be dam.
To return to Western Virginia; I found, upon my arrival in one of thecamps near Winchester, that the patriotic democratic chap was makingarrangements to divide the army there into Wards, instead of regiments,in order, as he said, that the returns might come in systematically.
"For instance," says he, "suppose that in the skirmish with theConfederacy which is going on just ahead of us, we should lose--sayseventy-five votes; how much easier it would be to say; the 'FourthWard shows a decrease since last year of seventy-five Republicans',than to say that such a regiment, of such a brigade, of such adivision, has lost so and so?"
I was reflecting upon this novel and admirable way of putting it, myboy, when an orderly came tearing in, with a report of the skirmishinggoing on.
"Ha!" says the patriotic chap to him; "how does the canvas proceed?"
"Well," says the orderly, breathlessly, "Banks' outpost has lost twentyvotes in the Tenth Ward by desertions, and has thirty double-voteswounded; but I think Banks can still keep neck-and-neck with McDowell."
"You do, hey?" says the patriotic chap, in great excitement. "ThenMcDowell must not lend Banks a single vote. Tell him to keep his WardCommittees under cover until Banks gets through with his canvas; for ifhe takes part in that, and the election results in a victory over theConfederacy, Banks will get all the credit of it, and win the card inthe next Nominating Convention."
So McDowell's votes didn't re-enforce Banks in the skirmish, my boy,and Banks lost much popularity by being worsted, by the Confederacy.
As soon as the firing had ceased, I went out to meet some of thereturning Wards, and came plump upon the swallow-tail chap, who wasagitating the negro question in a corner of the late battle-field,surrounded by fugitive contrabands.
"Friend of the human race," says I, "how now?"
"Young man," says he, hastily tying a red silk pocket-handkerchiefabout his head, "I am teaching these oppressed beings to spell, havingextemporized a college on the very scene of their recent emancipation."
"How far have the collegians progressed?" says I.
"They have got," says he, "to their a-b, abs. Thus; a-b, ab; o-abo; l-ili, aboli; t-i-o-n shun--abolition."
Shameful to relate, my boy, the swallow-tailed chap had no sooner saidthis, than a cavalry ward came charging helter-skelter, right throughthe college, tumbling the faculty into the mud, and bruising severalsophomore graduates. Simultaneously, the patriotic democratic chapappeared on the scene, and insisted upon it that the contrabands shouldbe immediately returned to the Southern Confederacy, as this is a whiteman's war. "Otherwise," says he, cholerically, "future reconciliationand reconstruction will be impossible."
Fearful that I should become confused a little if I remained there anylonger, my boy, I at once retired from the place, in company with twosick votes, who were going home on furlough, and reached this cityagain in good order.
Almost the first fellow-being I met on my return was a seedy andearnest chap from New York, who was worth about a quarter in readymoney, and had come to Washington post-haste to pledge the EmpireState's last dollar, and last drop of blood for the vigorousprosecution of the war.
"See here, my self-denying Brutus," says I, as we took Richmondtogether at the bar, "who commissioned you to pledge so much as allthat?"
"To tell the truth," says the seedy chap, confidentially, "it's allI've got left to pledge. I pledged my pinchbeck chronometer for threedollars," says he, sadly, "just before I left New York; and I'm tryingthis pledge on speculation."
I have sometimes feared, my boy, that our Uncle Samuel's concern isturning into a pawnbroking establishment on a large scale, where theymake advances on everything tangible and intangible, except Richmond,my boy--except Richmond.
Yours, with a presentiment, ORPHEUS C. KERR.