Chapter XLI: Letter XXXIV

BEGINNING WITH A LAMENTATION, BUT CHANGING MATERIALLY IN TONE AT THE DICTUM OF JED SMITH.

WASHINGTON, D.C., March 8th, 1862.

Two days ago, my boy, a letter from the West informed me that an old friend of mine had fallen in battle at the very moment of victory. One by one, my boy, I have lost many friends since the war began, and know how to bear the stroke; but what will they say in that home to which the young soldier wafted a nightly prayer? Thither, alas! he goes

NO MORE.

Hushed be the song and the love-notes of gladness
That broke with the morn from the cottager's door--
Muffle the tread in the soft stealth of sadness,
For one who returneth, whose chamber-lamp burneth
No more.

Silent he lies on the broad path of glory,
Where withers ungarnered the red crop of war.
Grand is his couch, though the pillows are gory,
'Mid forms that shall battle, 'mid guns that shall rattle
No more.

Soldier of Freedom, thy marches are ended--
The dreams that were prophets of triumph are o'er--
Death with the night of thy manhood is blended--
The bugle shall call thee, the fight shall enthrall thee
No more.

Far to the Northward the banners are dimming,
And faint comes the tap of the drummers before;
Low in the tree-tops the swallow is skimming;
Thy comrades shall cheer thee, the weakest shall fear thee
No more.

Far to the Westward the day is at vespers,
And bows down its head, like a priest, to adore;
Soldier, the twilight for thee has no whispers,
The night shall forsake thee, the morn shall awake thee
No more.

Wide o'er the plain, where the white tents are gleaming,
In spectral array, like the graves they're before--
One there is empty, where once thou wert dreaming
Of deeds that are boasted, of One that is toasted
No more.

When the Commander to-morrow proclaimeth
A list of the brave for the nation to store,
Thou shalt be known with the heroes he nameth,
Who wake from their slumbers, who answer their numbers
No more.

Hushed be the song and the love-notes of gladness
That broke with the morn from the cottager's door--
Muffle the tread in the soft stealth of sadness,
For one who returneth, whose chamber-lamp burneth
No more.

To escape my own thoughts, I went over into a camp of New England chaps, yesterday, my boy, and one of the first high-privates my eyes rested on was Jed Smith, of Salsbury. He winked to the chaps lounging near him, when he noted my doleful look, and says he:

"You're mopish, comrade. Hez caliker proved deceitful?"

"No," says I, indifferently. "Calico rather shuns me, as a general thing, my Down-easter, on account of my plain speaking."

This startled him, my boy, as I expected it would, and says he:

"That's jest like the mock-modesty of the wimmin folks all the world over, and a body might think they had the hull supply and nothin' shorter; but I tell ye it's the heartiest sow that makes the least noise, and half this here modesty is all sham. Onct in a while these here awful modest critters git shook down a bit, I guess; and gheewhillikins! ef it don't do me good to see it. I recollect I was goin' down from Augusty some two years ago, in the old stage that Sammy Tompkins druv, and we had one of the she-critters aboard--and she _was_ a scrouger, I tell ye! Bonnet red as a blaze, and stuck all over with stiff geeranium blows, a hump like a Hottentot gal, and sich ankles! but hold your horses, I'm gettin' ahead of time. We was awful crowded, and no mistake--piled right on top of each other, like so many layers of cabbage; and the way that gal squealed when we struck a rut, was a caution to screech owls. And she was takin' up her sheer of the coach, too, I guess; and kind of stretched her walkin' geer way under the seat in front of her, and out t'other side, just to brace herself agin the diffikilties of travel. It being pretty bad goin' down in them parts, she had on a pair of her brother's butes, and they was what she wouldn't have had seen if she'd knowed it. One of the fellers on the middle seat was Zeb Green--gone to glory some time ago--and when he spied them butes, he winked to me, and sung out:

"Gheewhillikins! who owns these ere big trotters?"

"Now, ye see, the she-critter was one of yer modest ones, and she wouldn't have owned up for the world, after that. Says she:

"'I guess they ain't mine.'

"Zeb see her game in a twinklin', and he was a tall one for a lark; so says he:

"'I rayther guess there's petticuts goes with them mud mashers.'

"The gal she flamed up at that, and says she:

"'I guess you're barkin' up the wrong saplin', Major, and yer must have a most audacious turkey on, not to know yer own butes.'

"Sich lyin' tuk Zeb all aback for a minute; but he combed up his bristles again, and tried her on another trail.

"'Now, you don't mean to come for to insinuate that them ere's _my_ butes, and I not know it?' says he:

"She was in for it then, and wouldn't back down; so says she:

"'In course I do, Major, and you'd better look out fur your own leather.'

"Zeb took a chaw of his terbacky, and says he:

"'Well, if you says it's so, I'm bound to swaller the oyster; but I'll be dod-rotted if my bute-maker won't hev to shave my last next winter.'

"I seen right off that Zeb was up to the biggest kind of a spree, and I knew them butes was the gist of it; cause ye see the she-critter couldn't hull 'em in nohow, after what she'd said.

"We went wrigglin' along for a while as still as cats in a milk-house, and the butes stayed where they was. But pretty soon Zeb began to grow uneasy like, and screwed up his ugly nose, like as if he was took with the pangs, and the doctor gone a courtin'.

"'Gheewhillikins!' says he, at last, 'I shan't stand this here much longer, if there _is_ company in the parlor!'

"We all looked at him, and says one feller:

"'I guess, Major, you're took putty bad.'

"Zeb gave his phizog another twist, an' says he:

"'You'd better believe it, squire. I've got corns on them ere feet of mine that'd make a preacher swear, and them butes pinch like all tarnation.'

"I see right off how the smoke was blowin', and says I:

"'Off with 'em, Zeb! We're all in the family, and won't mind you.'

"That was all the old he-one was waitin' fur; and as quick as I said it, he had one of that modest gal's feet in his hand, and twisted off the bute in a twinklin'!! We all see a perfect Wenus of a foot, and a golfired ankle, and then it was jerked away quicker'n a flash, and the critter screamed like a rantankerous tom-cat with his tail under a cheese-knife!

"'Murder!--you nasty thing,' says she, 'give me my bute.'

"With that, me, and Zeb, and the hull bilin' of us roared right out; and says Zeb, says he, as he handed her the bute with a killin' bow--says he:

"'Young woman, I guess I've taken your modesty, as the wimmen call it, down a peg. You sed them was _my_ butes, and in course I had a right to shed 'em; but ef they're your'n now, why keep 'em to yourself, for massy's sake!'

"That settled the gal down some, I tell ye; and it give her such a turn that her putty face was like a rose when we stopt at the Red Tavern."

We were so much pleased with this story, my boy, that we entreated the opponent of mock modesty to spin us another.

"Well, feller citizens," says he, "I don't mind if I do tell ye about

"A JOFIRED WAGON-TRADE

"I onct made down in Texas. You see I was doin' a right smart chance
of trade down in that deestrict with clocks, fur caps, Ingin meal,
and other necessaries of life; and onct in a while I went it blind
on a spekullation, when there was a chance to get a bargain, and
pay fifty per cent. on a stiff swindle. They was an old chap of a
half breed they called Uncle Johnny, down there, and somehow he got
wind of my pertikler cuteness, and he guessed he could run a pretty
sharp saw on me, if he only got a sight.

"I heerd he was after me, and thinks I 'you'll get a roastin', my
boy, ef you pick up this hot-chestnut;' but I was consated beyond
my powers then, and he was jist one huckleberry above my tallest
persimmon. We cum together one night at Bill Crown's tavern, and
the fust thing the old cuss said was:

"'Jerewsalem crickets! I'm like a fellow jist out of a feather bed
and no mistake. I tell ye that 'ere wagging uv mine rides jist
about as slick as a railroad of grease, and if it warn't so
allfired big, I wouldn't sell it for its weight in Orleans bank
notes.'

"I kinder thought I smelt a putty big bed-bug; but I glimpsed outer
the door, and there stood the wagon under the shed, and lookin'
orful temptin'. It war a big four wheel consarn, with a canvas top,
and about as putty a consarn for family use as ever I sot my
winkers on. Thinks I:

"'You don't fetch me this time, hoss; for I'll be jist a neck ahead
of you!'

"So I stood a minit, and then says I:

"'Without lookin' nor nuthin', Uncle Johnny, I'll jest give you $50
for that 'ere hearse.'

"He kinder blinked around, and says he:

"'I'd rather sell my grandmother; but the consarn's yourn, cunnel.
Show yer hand.'

"He was too willin' to suit me; but the game was outer cover, and I
wouldn't back down. So I give him the rags, and went out to look at
my bargain. Would you 'bleave it, the old varmint had jist fetched
that ere wagon down to the shed, and sot it up end on, so that I
didn't see how the fore-wheels wasn't thar! Fact! They had
marvelled, and the fore-axles was restin' on two hitchin' stakes:
Jist as I got through cussin,' I heerd a jofired larfin, and thar
was the robber and his friends standin' in the door, splittin'
their sides at me. Thinks I, 'I went cheap, then, my beauty; but
look out for a hail-storm when the wind's up next time.' I borreyed
a horse, and took that ar bargain to my shanty; and then I sot down
and went to thinkin'. Fur two days I war as melancholy as a chicken
in gooseberry time, tryin' to hit some plan to get even with the
cuss. All to onct somethin' struck me, and I felt better. Ye see
there was great talk down thar jist then, about the doctor's gig
what they heard tell on, but not a one was there in the hull
deestrict. I'd seen one up in York, and thinks I, 'Ef I don't make
a doctor's two-wheeler outer that ere wagon, then bleed me to death
with a oyster-knife!' So I jist got a big saw, and went to work
quiet like, and cut that ere wagon right in two in the
middle--cover and all. Then I took the shafts and fastened them
onto the hind part, and rigged up a dash-board. And then I took
part of the cut-off piece for a seat, and painted the hull thing
with black paint; and dod-rot me if ef I didn't hev a doctor's gig
as rantankerous as you please! I knew it would fetch a thunderin'
price fur its novelty to any one; but I was after Uncle Johnny, and
nobody else. One night I druv down to the tavern at a tearin' rate,
and the fust feller I see was hisself, a standin' in the door, and
sippin' kill-me-quick. He was kinder took down when he see me
comin' it so piert in my new two-wheeler, and some of his friends
inside axed him what was the matter. He kept as still as a mouse in
a pantry until I come up, and then says he:

"'What's that ere concern of yourn, hoss?'

"Says I:

"'It's one of them doctor's flyers as I'd rather ride in it than in
Queen Victory's bang-up, A, No. 1, stage-coach. It's a scrouger.'

"He kinder stuck a minute, and then says he:

"'What'll ye take for it, hoss?'

"I made out as though I didn't keer, and says I:

"'It was sent to me by a cousin up in York, and I don't keer to
sell; but yer may take it for $250.'

"He turned green about the gills at that, and says he:

"'Say $100, and I'll take it with my eyes shut.'

"'It's yourn,' says I. 'Give us the rags.'

"He smelt a bug that time; but it was too late; so he forked out
the rale stuff, and then went to look at the two-wheeler.

"'Thunder!' says he, blinkin' at the seat. 'I've seen that afore,
or my name isn't what my father's wus!'

"'Better 'blieve it,' says I; 'that's your four-wheeler shaved down
to the very latest York-fashion.'

"Then he _did_ cuss; but twarn't no use. The trade was a trade, and
all the boys larfed till their tongues hung out. I treated all
round, and as I left 'em, says I:

"'Uncle Johnny, when ye want to trade agin, jist pick out a
grindstun that isn't too hard for yer blade.'"

At the conclusion of this tale of real life I returned to the city, my boy; impressed with the conviction that the purpose of the sun's rising in the East is to give the New Englanders the first chance to monopolize the supply, should daylight ever be a sailable article.

Yours, admiringly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.