Chapter 101
To the youthful soul, still steeped in those romantic dreams, of which a supper of pig's feet is the best artificial provocative I know, this war is a vast phantasmagoria of almighty giants struggling together in the clouds. There was a time when I, too, was able to see it to that extent; but time, and some experience in Virginia, have reduced my giants in the clouds to brigadiers in the mud; and from seeing our national banner in the character of a rainbow dipped in stars, I have come to regard it as an ambitious attempt to represent sunrise in muslin, the unexpected scantiness of the material compelling the ingenious artist to use a section of midnight to fill up.
Down in Accomac, the other day, I overheard a sentimental Mackerel chap, to whom I had imparted this flagging idea, inflicting it upon another Mackerel as original; but he was anxious to improve upon the comparison, and says he:
"Our National Standard is so much like a beautiful sunrise, that I could almost wish the full idea of an eternal morning could be further expressed in it by something to represent the dew."
The inferior Mackerel scratched his head, and says he:
"Why, my pay has been due for some time, and I myself am eternally mourning for it."
If we cast pearls before swine, my boy, we must not be surprised to find them taken for the seeds of cabbage-heads. I once told a Wall-street broker that I considered the break of day one of Nature's most glorious sights; and he said that he didn't mind it himself, if he didn't happen to have any of Day's notes on hand at the time.
But, to return to the giants and the pins; the absence of all giants in the way of events for the past week has induced me to take note of the pins; and close observation of a few of the latter induces me to believe that a strong Union feeling is beginning to be developed amongst the loyal ma.s.ses of the North. For instance: one of the pa.s.sengers in one of the street-cars of Paris, the other day, was a venerable man of ninety-three years and seven months, who sat quietly between two lady-pa.s.sengers, eating roast chestnuts, and permitting the sh.e.l.ls to fall upon their laps. Upon his h.o.a.ry locks rested a white hat, well worn and mashed-in with time; his once light overcoat b.u.t.toned close to his throat, represented a drawn battle between grease spots and torn places; his venerable lower members were encased in blue overalls, somewhat shaded about the knees; and the large feet, resting easily upon the cus.h.i.+ons of the opposite seat of the car, wore one slipper and one disabled boot. With the exception of a scarcely heard hiccup between every two chestnuts that he ate, not a sound was emitted by this venerable and striking figure as he sat there thus un.o.btrusively in a public car, like any ordinary pa.s.senger.
Presently, a young and boisterous lieutenant, vain of his new regimentals, and full of the airs of a new Jack-in-office, entered the car, and egotistically attempted to make his way to a seat. A faint hiccup saluted his ear, and, looking down, he found his way barred by the aged legs of the venerable stranger, whose feet were upon the opposite cus.h.i.+ons.
"Let me pa.s.s, old man?" says the vain youngster, with the smart air of one who wishes to get to his seat.
The venerable stranger hardly raised his stern old eyes at the flippant remark, but ate another chestnut, as though no one had spoken.
"Come, my friend," says the conceited stripling, with fresh arrogance, "Be kind enough to move for a moment. I am Colonel P----."
In an instant, the aged frame sprang to his feet, opened all the windows, turned the conductor out of the car, locked the doors, mashed his hat down over his eyes, and frantically tearing open his dilapidated overcoat, displayed _the star of a major-general_!
In an instant, the newly-fledged colonel lost all his knowing braggadocio, and cowered before the glorious old veteran, like a cowed cur (female of a bull-dog).
"Wr-r-r-etch!" exclaimed the h.o.a.ry commander, in tones of thunder, relieved with the vivid lightning of a hiccup, "Do you know _me_!"
The abashed
Some hours later, on this same car, there transpired a somewhat different scene, but one equally calculated to prove that there is indeed a North. Twenty-three wealthy secessionists were in the swift vehicle, the only other pa.s.senger being a handsome lad of about sixteen, in the uniform of a brigadier. Rendered confident by their numbers, the enemies of our beneficent form of government entered into a venomous discussion of the siege of Vicksburg, a.s.serting that the Yazoo Expedition had not yet captured forty-two steamboats of Confederacies, and that the announcement of the capture of the Mississippi River was premature.
The young soldier of the Republic went on with some candy he was eating, an apparently indifferent spectator of this symposium of treason; but the close spectator could not have failed to observe that his whole form was invisibly convulsed with a patriotic indignation.
Presently, however, when one of the more hideous conspirators heartlessly remarked that we had not heard much of our army in Virginia lately, endurance ceased to be a virtue, and the young hero could no longer restrain himself.
In a moment his whole aspect changed; his eyes burst into a devouring blaze, and his cheeks were in flames before aught could be done to check the conflagration. Animated by the strength of a giant, in a cause which he believed to be a n.o.ble one, he shot the traitors one by one with his revolver, and buried them in an obscure swamp near the track; he paid the driver and conductor their wages, and induced them to enlist for three years; then, after selling both the horses at auction, he broke the car into kindling-wood for the use of the poor.
And this mere boy, who could make himself equal to an emergency,--what of him? I can fancy him a fond mothers pride, a venerable father's hope,--ay, even a tender sister's favorite snub. When this record of his glory reaches them, will they remember, in the midst of their proud exultation, the poor scribe whose humble pen relates to them the glories of their house? Will they drop one burning tear to the memory of him who at this moment does not know what on earth to write about next, and heartily wishes that he had been content to earn a respectable living as a reputable wood-sawyer, instead of turning writer? Will they sometimes give one idle thought to the unpretending _literateur_ who has found the glorious reward of literary merit to be an a.s.sumption by one-horse country newspapers of the right to talk about him by his family name without troubling themselves to put in the civilized courtesy of "Mr."? Will they mention in their less urgent prayer, occasionally, the modest child of the quill, who would exceed all the horrors of the Inquisition with the foes of his country, by actually forcing them to write a column for a newspaper when they felt mentally incapable of penning a single coherent paragraph? Will they?
Ah! this is no country to appreciate genius; as they wrote upon the tomb of my early friend, the sweet-singing Arkansaw Nightingale, whose last sad ma.n.u.script to me described
"A BIG DOG FIT.
"Lige Simmons is as cute a chap As ever you did see, And when the feller says a thing, It's sure as it can be.
"He owns a dog--and sich a brute For smellin' round a chap, I never see in all my life, You'd better bet your cap.
"Now Lige is proud of this here dog, And says the critter'll whip As many wild-cats in an hour As go to load a s.h.i.+p.
"'But, law,' says Lige, 'that animile Is awful in a row, And other pups 'longside of him An't no account, nohow.'
"In fact, one day, I saw the same Contemporaneous pup Pitch into a Newfounlander And chaw him slightly up.
"He's such a plaguy little cuss, You'd laugh to see him come; But when there's chawin' up to do, I tell you, boss, he's some!
"One day, a pedler came to town With ginger-beer and things, And patent clocks, and pious books, And fancy finger-rings.
"And underneath his cart was tied A bull-dog of the kind That tears your musn't-mention-'ems, In angry frame of mind.
"Now, Lige's dog was smellin' round, And when he see this here, He c.o.c.ked his eye in agony, And acted awful queer.
"The bull-dog gin a rousin' shout, As Lige's dog went by, And gev him such a sa.s.sy nip That fur began to fly.
"Then Lige's dog unfurled his tail And gev the wound a lick, And then pitched into that ere dog A way that _wasn't_ sick.
"The critters had it nip and tuck, And made such awful noise, That Lige himself came up to see, With all the other boys.
"The pedler see him, and says he, Like one to fits inured: 'I'm sorry, strannger; but I hope Your yaller dog's insured.'
"I tell you, boys, 'twas fun to see The grin that Lige put on, As in his cheek he put a chaw And winked his eye at one.
"'Oh, let the varmints fit,' says Lige, 'My pup is awful thin, And this here row will make him look Jist like himself ag'in.'
"And all this while the fit went on, With such a mess of dust We couldn't tell the upper dog, If all our eyes should bust.
"'Twas yell and yowl, and shout and growl, And stompin' awful hard, And sometimes they'd a tail stick out From where the dust was bar'd.
"Byme-by the noise began to die, And as it fainter grew, The dust began to settle down, And you could just see through.
"At last it cleared away entire, But all that we could see Was Lige's dog a squattin' down Beneath the axletree.
"'Law!' says the pedler, lookin' blue, 'What's happened to _my_ pup?'
Says Lige: 'It's my opinion, boss, My pup has eat him up.'
"'But where's the chain I tied him with?'
The pedler loud did call.
And would you b'lieve me--Lige's dog Had swallowed chain and all!
"One end was hangin' from his mouth And gev him such a cough, We had to fetch a chisel out And cut some inches off.
"Then that ere brute, to show the joy That's nat'ral to dum brutes, Insulted that sad pedler there, By smellin' round his boots.
"The pedler dropped a tear, and then Says he to Lige, says he: 'I'd like to buy that yaller pup And take him home with me.'
"But 'no,' says Lige, with proud disdain And sot down on a log, 'That pup is plural now, you know-- A dog within a dog.'
"'He's twice as strong to fit,' says Lige; 'For if he's killed outside, I'll turn the critter inside out, And let _your_ critter slide.'
"'Well,' says the pedler, with a sigh, 'The pup's a trump, I think; But let us change the subject now; Say, strannger!--do you drink?'"