Chapter XVII: Letter X

MAKING CONSERVATIVE MENTION OF THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN AND ITS EVENTS. THE FIRE-ZOUAVE'S VERSION OF THE AFFAIR, AND SO ON.

WASHINGTON, D.C., July 28th, 1861.

We have met the enemy at last, my boy; but I don't see that he's ours. We went after him with flying banners, and I noticed when we came back that they were flying still! Honor to the brave who fell on that bloody field! and may we kill enough secessionists to give each of them a monument of Southern skulls!

I was present at the great battle, my boy, and appointed myself a special guard of one of the baggage-wagons in the extreme rear. The driver saw me coming, and says he:

"You can't cut behind this here wehicle, my fine little boy."

I looked at him for a moment, after the manner of the late great actor, Mr. Kirby, and says I:

"Soldier, hast thou a wife?"

Says he:

"I reckon."

"And sixteen small children?"

Says he:

"There was only fifteen when last heard from."

"Soldier," says I, "were you to die before to-morrow, what would be your last request?"

Here I shed two tears.

"It would be," says he, "that some kind friend would take the job of walloping my offspring for a year on contract, and finding my beloved wife in subjects to jaw about."

"Soldier," says I, "I'm your friend and brother. Let me occupy a seat by your side."

And he didn't let me do it.

Just at this moment, something burst, and I found myself going up at the rate of two steeples and a shot-tower a second. I met a Fire Zouave on the way down, and says he:

"Towhead, if you see any of our boys up where you're goin' to, just tell them to hurry down; fur there's goin' to be a row, and Nine's fellers 'll take that ere four-gun hydrant from the seceshers in less time than you can reel two yards of hose."

As I was _very_ tired I did not go all the way up; but turned back at the first cloud, and returned hastily to the scene of strife. I happened to light on a very fat secesher, who was doing a little running for exercise. Down he went, with me on top of him. He was dreadfully scared; but says he to me: "I've =seen you before, by the gods!" I winked at him, and commenced to sharpen my sword on a stone.

"Tell me," says he, "had you a female mother?"

"I had," says I.

"And a masculine father?"

"He wore breeches."

"Then you _are_ my long lost grandfather!" says the secesher, endeavoring to embrace me.

"It won't do," says I; "I've been to the Bowery Theatre myself;" and with that I took off his neck-tie and wiped my nose with it. This action was so repugnant to the feelings of a Southern gentleman, that he immediately died on my hands; and there I left him.

It was my first personal victory in this unnatural war, my boy, and as I walked away I thought sadly of the domestic circle in the Southern Confederacy that might be waiting anxiously, tearfully, for the husband and father----him whom I had morally assassinated. And there he sprawled, denied even the simple privilege of extending a parting blessing to his children. Under ordinary circumstances, my boy, there's something deeply affecting in

THE DYING SOUTHERNER'S FAREWELL TO HIS SON.

My boy, my lion-hearted boy,
Your father's end draws near;
Already is your loss begun,
And, curse it, there's a tear.

I've sought to bring you up, my son,
A credit to the South,
And all your poker games have been
An honor to us both.

Though scarcely sixteen years of age,
Your bowie's tickled more
Than many Southerners I know
At fifty and three score.

You've whipped your nigger handsomely,
And chewed your plug a day;
And when I hear you swear, my son,
What pride my eyes betray!

And now, that I must leave the world,
My dying words attend;
But first, a chew of niggerhead,
And cut it near the end.

To you the old plantation goes,
With mortgage, tax, and all,
Though compound interest on that first,
Will make the profit small.

The niggers to your mother go;
And if she wants to sell,
You might contrive to buy her out,
Should all the crops grow well.

I leave you all my debts, my son,
To Yankees chiefly due;
But--curse the black republicans!
That needn't trouble you.

A true-born Southern gentleman
Disdains the vulgar thought
Of paying, like a Yankee clerk,
For what is sold and bought.

Leave that to storekeepers and fools
Who never banked a card;
We pay our "debts of honor," boy,
Though pressed however hard.

Last summer at the North I bought,
Some nigger hats and shoes,
And gave my note for ninety days;
Forget it if you choose.

The Yankee mudsills would not have
Such articles to sell,
If Southern liberality
Had fattened them less well.

The Northern dun we hung last week
Had twenty dollars clear,
And that, my son, is all the cash
I have to give you here.

But that's enough to make a start,
And, if you pick your boat,
A Mississippi trip or two
Will set you all afloat.

You play a screaming hand, my son,
And push an ugly cue;
Oh! these are thoughts that make me feel
As dying Christians do!

Keep cool, my lion-hearted boy,
Till second ace is played,
And then call out for brandy sour
As though your pile was made.

The other chaps will think you've got
The tiger by the tail;
And when you see them looking glum,
Just call for brandy pale!

I never knew it fail to make
Some green one go it blind;
And when the first slip-up is made,
It's all your own, you'll find.

My breath comes hard--I'm euchred, boy--
First Families must die;
I leave you in your innocence,
And here's a last good-bye.

Shortly after the event I have recorded, I was examining the back of a house near the battle-field, to see if it corresponded with the front, when another Fire Zouave came along, and says he:

"It's my opine that you're sticking rather too thick to the rear of that house to be much punkins in a muss. Why don't you go to the front like a man?"

"My boy," says I, "this is the house of a predominant rebel, and I'm detailed to watch the back door."

With that the Zouave was taken with such a dreadful fit of coughing that he had to move on to get his breath, and I was left alone once more.

These Fire Zouaves, my boy, have a perversity about them not to be repressed. They were neck-and-neck with the rest of us in our stampede back to this city; and yet, my boy, they refuse to consider the United States of America worsted. Here is the version of

BULL RUN,

BY A FIRE ZOUAVE.

Oh, it's all very well for you fellers
That don't know a fire from the sun,
To curl your moustaches, and tell us
Just how the thing _oughter_ be done;
But when twenty wake up ninety thousand,
There's nothin' can follow but rout;
We didn't give in till we had to;
And what are yer coughin' about?

The crowd that was with them ere rebels
Had ten to our every man;
But a fireman's a fireman, me covey,
And he'll put out a fire if he can:
So we run the masheen at a gallop,
As easy as open and shut,
And as fast as one feller went under,
Another kept takin' der butt.

You oughter seen Farnham, that mornin'!
In spite of the shot and the shell
His orders kept ringing around us
As clear as the City Hall bell.
He said all he could to encourage
And lighten the hearts of the men,
Until he was bleeding and wounded,
And nary dried up on it then.

While two rifle regiments fought us,
And batteries tumbled us down,
Them cursed Black-Horse fellers charged us,
Like all the Dead Rabbits in town.
And that's just the way with them rebels,
It's ten upon one, or no fair;
But we emptied a few of their saddles--
You may bet all your soap on that air!

"Double up!" says our colonel, quite coolly,
When he saw them come riding like mad,
And we did double up in a hurry,
And let them have all that we had.
They came at us counting a hundred,
And scarcely two dozen went back;
So you see, if they bluffed us on aces,
We made a big thing with the Jack.

We fought till red shirts were as plenty
As blackberries, strewing the grass,
And then we fell back for a breathing,
To let Sixty-nine's fellers pass.
Perhaps Sixty-nine didn't peg them,
And give them uncommon cheroots?
Well--I've just got to say, if they didn't
You fellers can smell of my boots!

The Brooklyn Fourteenth was another,
And those Minnesota chaps too;
But the odds were too heavy against us,
And but one thing was left us to do:
We had to make tracks for our quarters,
And finished it up pretty rough;
But if any chap says that they licked us,
I'd just like to polish him off!

With the remembrance of the many heroic souls who sacrificed themselves for their country that day, I have not the heart, my boy, to continue the subject. I was routed at about five o'clock in the afternoon, and fell back on Washington, where I am now receiving my rations. I don't take the oath with any spirit since then; and a skeleton with nothing on but a havelock is all that is left of

Yours, emaciatedly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.