Chapter XXXIV: Letter XXVII

TOUCHING INCIDENTALLY UPON THE CHARACTER OF ARMY FOOD, AND CELEBRATING THE GREAT DIPLOMATIC EXPLOIT OF CAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN AT ACCOMAC.

WASHINGTON, D.C., January 19th, 1862.

In the early part of the week I resolved to go down to Accomac, on a flying visit to Captain Villiam Brown and the Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade. Accordingly, I went to the shoemaker's after my gothic steed Pegasus. The shoemaker, had said, my boy, that there was enough loose leather hanging about the architectural animal to make me a nice pair of slippers, and I gave him permission to cut them out. The operation only made the Morgan's back look a little more like the roof of a barn; but I like him all the better for that, because he sheds the rain easier.

The General of the Mackerel Brigade at first intended to accompany me to Accomac; and says he to Samyule Sa-mith, the orderly, says he: "Samyule! just step down to the anatomical museum of the Western chaps, and buy me the best horse you can find in the collection. Here's a dollar and half--fifty cents for the horse and a dollar for your trouble."

Samyule came back in about forty minutes, and says he:

"Colonel Wobert Wobinson, of the Western Cavalry, says I must come again this afternoon, as he don't know whether there'll be any horses left or not."

"Thunder!" says the General. "How left?"

"Vy," says Samyule, "he can't tell whether any horses will be left until the boys have had their dinner, can he!"

"Ah!" says the General, contemplatively, "I forgot the beef-soup recommended by the doctors. It will be a pleasant change for the boys," says he, "from the mutton that was so plenty just after them mules died."

Speaking of dinner, my boy; let me tell you about a curious occurrence in our camp lately. Just after a load of rations had come in, a New York chap says to me, says he:

"I'm glad they're going to put down the Russ pavement here pretty soon; for it's getting damp as thunder."

"Id-jut!" said I, sarcastically, "where have you seen any Russ pavement?"

He just took me softly by the arm, my boy, and led me a little way, and pointed, and says he:

"If you'll just look there, you'll see some of the blocks."

"Why," says I, "those are army biscuit for the men."

"Biscuit!" says he, rubbing his stomach, and turning up his eyes like a cat with the apoplexy--"if them's biscuit, Bunker Hill Monument must be built of flour--that's all."

And he went out and took the Oath.

On arriving at Accomac, my boy, I asked a blue-and-gold picket where Villiam Brown was, and he said that he was in the library.

The library was used by the former occupants of the residence as a hen-house, and contains two volumes--Hardee abridged, and "Every Man His Own Letter-Writer," Seward's edition.

I found Captain Villiam Brown seated on what was formerly a Shanghai's nest, my boy, with his feet out of the window, and his head against a roost. He was studying the last-named book, and sipping Old Bourbon the Oath, in the intervals. The intervals were numerous.

"Son of the Eagle," says I, "you remind me of Sir Walter Scott, at Abbotsford."

Villiam looked abstractedly at me, at the same time moving the tumbler a little further from my hand, and says he:

"I've been in the agonies of diplomacy, but feel much better." "Ha!" says Villiam, beaming like a new comet, "I've preserved our foreign relations peaceful, without humbling the United States of America."

I asked an explanation, and he informed me that on the evening before, one of his men had boarded an Accomac scow in Goose Creek, and captured two oppressed negroes, named Johnson and Peyton, who were carrying news to the enemy. "At first," says Villiam, sternly, "I thought of letting them off with hanging, but I soon felt that they deserved something worse, and so--" says Villiam, with a malignant scowl that made my blood run cold--"and so, I sentenced them to read Sumner's speech on the Trent affair."

On the following morning there came the following letter from the righteously-exasperated citizens of Accomac, which Villiam labeled as

DOCKYMENT I.

SWEET VILLIAM--SIR:--I am instructed by the neutral Government of
Accomac to assure the United States of America, that the feeling at
present existing between the two Governments is of such a cordial
nature, that love itself never inspired more heaving emotions in
the buzzums of conglomerated youth.

Therefore, the outrage committed by the United States of America on
the flag of Accomac, in removing from its protection two gentlemen
named Johnson and Peyton, is something for demons to rejoice over.
The daughter of the latter gentleman has already slapped her mother
in the face, and bared her buzzum to the breeze.

I am instructed by the government of Accomac to demand the instant
return of the two gentlemen, together with an ample apology for the
base deed, and the amount of that little bill for forage.

Again assuring you of the cordial feeling existing between the two
countries, and the passionate affection I feel for yourself, I am,
dear sir, most truly, dear sir, as ever, respected sir, your
attached

WILLIAM GOAT.

On receiving this communication from Mr. Goat, my boy, Captain Villiam Brown removed Lieutenant Thomas Jenks from the command of the artillery, and ordered six reviews of the troops without umbrellas. He then had a small keg of the Oath rolled into the library, rumpled up his hair, shut one eye, and replied to Mr. Goat with

DOCKYMENT II.

LORD GOAT--SIR:--I take much felicity in receiving your lordship's
note, which shows that the neutral Government of Accomac and the
United States of America still cherish the feelings that do credit
to Anglo-Saxon hearts of the same parentage.

The two black beings, at present stopping in the barn attached to
the present head-quarters, were contraband of war; but were,
nevertheless, engaged in the peaceful occupation of asking the
protection of your lordship's government.

Were I to decide this question in favor of the United States of
America, I should forever forfeit the right of every American
citizen to treat niggers as sailable articles, since I would
thereby deny their right to sail. The Congress of the United States
of America has been fighting for this right for more than a quarter
of a century, and I cannot find it in me heart to debar it of that
divine privilege for the future.

I might cite Wheaton, Story, Bulwer, Kent, Marryat, Sheridan, and
Busteed, to sustain my position, were I familiar with those
international righters.

Therefore I am compelled to humble your lordship's government by
returning the two black beings aforesaid, and beg leave to assure
your lordship that I am your lordship's only darling,

VILLIAM BROWN, Eskevire,
Captain Conic Section, Mackerel Brigade.

After reading this able and brilliant document, my boy, I told Villiam that I thought he had made a very good point about negroes always being "sailable articles," and he said that was diplomacy.

"Ah!" says he, sadly, "my father always said that if you could not get over a rail fence by high-jump-acy, there was nothing like dip-low-macy. My dad was a natural statesman. Ah!" says Villiam, in a fine burst of filial emotion, "I wonder where the durned old fool is now."

This idea plunged him into such a depth of reverie, that I left him without another word, mounted Pegasus, and ambled reflectively back to the Capitol.

Diplomacy brings out the intellect of a nation, my boy, and is a splendid thing to use until we get our navy finished.

Yours, in memory of Metternich,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.