Chapter XXXIX: Letter XXXII

COMMENCING WITH A BURST OF EXULTATION OVER NATIONAL VICTORIES, REFERRING TO A SENATORIAL MISTAKE, DEPICTING A WELL-KNOWN CHARACTER, AND REPORTING THE RECONNOISSANCE OF THE WESTERN CENTAURS.

WASHINGTON, D.C., February 21st, 1862.

Now swells Columbia's bosom with a pride, that sets her eyes ablaze with living fire; and, with her arms upreaching to the skies, she draws in air new crowns with stars adorned, to ring the temples of her conquering chiefs. Far in the West, she sees the livid sparks struck by Achilles from the hostile sword, and in the South beholds how Ajax bold defies the lightning of the rebel guns. Then clasping to her breast the flag we love, and donning swift Minerva's gleaming helm, she stands where Morn's first glories kiss the hills, and breathes the paean of a fame redeemed!

Three cheers for the chaps who pocketed Fort Donelson & Co., my boy, and may the rebels never have an easier boat to row than Roanoke. The other day I was talking with a New England Senator about the taking of the fort, and says I:

"It was a gay victory, my learned Theban; but it makes me mad when I think how that slippery rascal, Floyd, found an egress down the river."

The Senator pulled up his collar, my boy, observed to the tumbler-sergeant that he would take the same with a little more sugar in it, and then says he:

"In that observation you sum up the whole cause of this unnatural strife. It is, indeed, the negro, whose wrongs are now being revenged upon us by an inscrutable Whig Providence; and if the Government does not speedily strike the fetters from the slave, that slave may yet be used to fight horribly against us. I shall cite the significant fact you mention in my next exciting speech."

I opened my eyes at this outburst until they looked like the bottoms of two quart bottles beaming in the sunshine, and then says I:

"You talk as fluently as a Patent Office Report, my worthy Nestor; but I don't exactly perceive what my remark has to do with the colored negro."

"Why," says he, "didn't you say that the traitor Floyd found _a negress_ down the river?"

For an instant, my boy, I felt very dizzy, and was obliged to lean my head against a tumbler for a moment.

"Your ears, my friend," says I, "are certainly long enough to hear correctly what is said to you; but this time you've made a slight mistake. I said that Floyd had found _an egress_ down the river."

The Senator looked at me for a moment, and says he:

"Sold by a soldier! Good morning."

I wonder how those nice, pleasant, gentlemanly chaps down in South Carolina enjoy Uncle Samuel's latest hit? I can fancy their damaging effects, my boy, upon the constitution of

THE SOUTH CAROLINA GENTLEMAN.

Down in the small Palmetto State, the curious ones may find
A ripping, tearing gentleman, of an uncommon kind--
A staggering, swaggering sort of chap, who takes his whiskey
straight,
And frequently condemns his eyes to that ultimate vengeance which
a clergyman of high standing has assured us must be the
sinner's fate;
A South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.

You trace his genealogy, and not far back you'll see
A most undoubted octoroon, or mayhap a mustee;
And if you note the shaggy locks that cluster on his brow,
You'll find that every other hair is varied with a kink, that
seldom denotes pure Caucasian blood; but, on the contrary,
betrays an admixture with a race not particularly popular now--
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.

He always wears a full-dress coat--pre-Adamite in cut--
With waistcoat of the loudest style, through which his ruffles jut.
Six breastpins deck his horrid front: and on his fingers shine
Whole invoices of diamond rings, which would hardly pass muster
with the Original Jacobs in Chatham street, for jewels
gen-u-ine--
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.

He chews tobacco by the pound, and spits upon the floor,
If there is not a box of sand behind the nearest door;
And when he takes his weekly spree, he clears a mighty track
Of everything that bears the shape of whisky-skin, gin-and-sugar,
brandy-sour, peach-and-honey, irrepressible cocktail,
rum-and-gum, and luscious apple-jack--
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.

He looks on grammar as a thing beneath the notice quite
Of any Southern gentleman whose grandfather was white;
And as for education--why, he'll plainly set it forth,
That such d--d nonsense never troubles the heads of the Chivalry;
though it may be sufficiently degrading to merit the personal
attention of the poor wretches unfortunate enough to
make their living at the North--
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.

He licks his niggers daily, like a true American;
And "takes the devil out of them" by this sagacious plan.
He tries his bowie knives upon the fattest he can find;
And if the darkey winces, why--he is immediately arrested at the
instance of the First Families in the neighborhood, on a charge
of conversing with a fiendish abolitionist, and conspiring to
poison all the wells in the State with strychnine, and arm the
slaves of the adjoining plantations with knives and pistols;
for all of which he is very properly sentenced to five hundred
lashes--after which to prison he's consigned (by)
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.

If for amusement he's inclined, he coolly looks about
For a parson of the Methodists, or some poor peddler lout;
And having found him, has him hung from some majestic tree--
Then calls his numerous family to enjoy with him the instructive
and entertaining spectacle of a "suspected abolitionist"
receiving his just reward at the hands of an incensed
com-mu-ni-ty--
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.

He takes to euchre kindly, too, and plays an awful hand,
Especially when those he tricks his style don't understand;
And if he wins, why then he stoops to pocket all the stakes;
But if he loses, then he says unto the unfortunate stranger, who
has chanced to win: "It's my opinion that you are a cursed
abolitionist; and if you don't leave South Carolina in one
hour, you will be hung like a dog." But no offer to pay his
loss he makes--
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.

Of course he's all the time in debt to those who credit give--
Yet manages upon the best the market yields to live;
But if a Northern creditor asks him his bill to heed,
This honorable gentleman instantly draws two bowie-knives and a
pistol, dons a blue cockade, and declares, that in consequence
of the repeated aggressions of the North, and its gross
violations of the Constitution, he feels that it would utterly
degrade him to pay any debt whatever; and that, in fact, he has
at last determined to SECEDE!--
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.

And when, at length, to Charleston of the other world he goes,
He leaves his children mortgages, with all their other woes.
As slowly fades the vital spark, he doubles up his fists,
And softly murmurs through his teeth: "I die under a full conviction
of my errors in life, and freely forgive all men; but still I
only hope that somewhere on the other side of Jordan I may just
come across some ab-o-li-tion-ists!!"--
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.

Yesterday afternoon, my boy, Colonel Wobert Wobinson, of the Western Centaurs, ordered Captain Samyule Sa-mith to make a reconnoissance toward Flint Hill with a company of skeleton cavalry, having learned that several bushels of oats were stored there.

Samyule drew up his company in line against a fence, and then says he:

"Comrades, we go upon a mission that is highly dangurious, and America expects every hoss to do his duty. If we meet the rebels," continued Samyule, impressively, "they will try hard to capture some of our hosses; for they're badly off for gridirons down there, and three or four of our spirited animals would supply them for the season. If any of you see them coming after the hardware, just put your gridirons on a gallop and fall back."

At the conclusion of this speech, Private Peter Jenkins observed that he'd been falling back ever since he got his horse; for which he was sentenced to laugh at all the colonel's jokes for a week.

Would that I possessed the fiery pen of bully Homer, to describe the gallant advance of that splendid _corps_, as it trotted fiercely on to victory or death. At its head was Captain Samyule Sa-mith, mounted on a horse of some degree of merit, his coat-tails flapping behind him like banners at half-mast, and his form bouncing about in the saddle like an inspired jumping-jack. There was Lieutenant Tummis Kagcht, recently of the German navy, riding an animal with prows as sharp as a yacht and that was broadside to the road at least half the time. There was private Peter Jenkins, seated directly over the tail of a yellow-enameled charger, that walked at right-angles with the fences, and never stopped to take breath until it had gone three yards.

There was Sergeant O'Pake, late of Italy, who bestrode a sorrel, whose side was full of symmetrical gutters to carry the rain off, and who kept his octagon head directly under the right arm of the horseman ahead of him. There was private Nick O'Demus, with his sabre tucked neatly into the eyes of his neighbor, managing an anatomical curiosity that walked half of the time on his hind-legs, and creaked when it came to ruts in the road.

Onward, right onward, went this glittering cavalcade, my boy, until they came to an outskirt of Flint Hill, where a solitary remnant of a First Family might have been seen sitting on a fence, eating a sandwich.

"Tr-r-aitor!" shouted Captain Samyule Sa-mith, in tones of milk-souring thunder, "where is the rest of the Confederacy, and what do you think of the news from Fort Donelson?"

The Confederacy hiccupped gloomily, my boy, as he took an impression of its front teeth on the sandwich, and says he:

"The melancholy days are come--the saddest of the year."

"That's very true," said Samyule, pleasantly, "and proves you to be a person of some eddication. But tell me, sweet hermit of the dale," pursued Samyule, "where are the oats we have heard about?"

The solitary Confederacy checked a rising cough with another bite at his ration, and says he:

"You have the oats already; for they were eaten last night by six Confederate chickens, and my slave, Mr. Johnson, sold them chickens to a prospecting detachment of the Mackerel Brigade this morning. Don't talk to me any more," continued the Confederacy, sadly, "for I am very miserable, and haven't seen a quarter in six months."

Samyule seemed touched, and put his hand half-way into his pocket, but remembered his probable children, and refrained from romantic generosity.

"Let me see Mr. Johnson," says he, reflectively, "and I will question him concerning the South."

The Confederacy indulged in a plaintive cat-call, whereupon there emerged from an adjacent clump of bushes a beautiful black being, richly attired in a heavy seal-ring and a red neck-tie. It was Mr. Johnson.

"You have sent for me," says Mr. Johnson, with much dignity, "and I have come. If you do not want me, I will return."

"You have seen the tragic Forrest?" said Samyule.

"The forest is my home," replied Mr. Johnson, "and in its equal shade my humble hut stands sacredly embowered. As the gifted Whittier might say:

"There lofty trees uprear in pillared state,
And crystal streams the thirsty deer elate;
While through the halls that base the dome of leaves
Fall sunshine-harvests spread in golden sheaves.

"There toy the birds in sweet seclusion blest,
To leap the branches or to build the nest,
While from their throats the grateful song outpoured
Wakes woodland orchestras to praise the Lord.

"There walks the wolf, no longer driven wild
By panting hounds and huntsman blood-defiled;
But tamed to kindness, seeketh peacefully
The soothing shelter of a hollow tree.

"Who would be free, and tow'r above his race,
In the full freedom spurning man and place,
Deep in the forest let him rear his clan
Where God himself stands face to face with man."

Just as the oppressed African finished this rhythmical statement of his platform, my boy, a huge horse-fly, alighting on the nose of Captain Samyule Sa-mith, awoke that hero from the refreshing slumber into which he had fallen.

"Tell me, Johnson," says he, "how you got your eddication, for I thought that persons from Afric's sunny mountain went to school about as often as a cat goes to sea."

Mr. Johnson placed his hand upon his breast with much stateliness, and says he: "I entered Yale College as a Spaniard, and having graduated with all honors, returned to my master, and was at once employed in cotton culture. I am contented and happy, and have never seen an uncomfortable day since my wife was sold. Go, stranger, and tell your people that the South may be overwhelmed, but she can never be conquered while Johnson has a seal ring to his back."

On hearing this speech, my boy, Samyule said:

"About face! skeletons;" and the gridiron cavalry returned to camp in a brown study.

The intelligence of the southern slaves is really wonderful, my boy, and if it should ever come to a head, look out for a rise in wool.

Yours, contemplatively,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.