The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers Volume I Part 38

By degrees, Garibaldi made ready to capture Palermo; he laid in a stock of cannon and woolen stockings, he harangued his warriors, and told them the day was theirs if they won it; he invited all the reporters to a banquet. Then he went and took Palermo.

How did he take it?

I know not; there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in ordinary philosophy: all I know is, that he took Palermo.

Having brought my history down to this point, I deem it proper to pause in my task until the future shall have revealed what takes place hereafter; and the past shall have ceased to interfere so outrageously with the present, that its limits can only be distinguished through the bottom of a tumbler. Liberty is the normal condition of the Italian, and while Garibaldi leads, the cry will be: "Liberty or death, with a preference for the former." Already the day-star of freedom gilds the horizon of beautiful Naples, and if it should not happen to be proved a comet by some evil-minded astronomer, Italy may yet be as free as New York itself, and pay a war-tax of not more than some millions a year.

This finely-written life of the great Italian patriot had such an effect upon the Mackerels, my boy, that they all wished to _live_ like Garibaldi--hence, they are in no hurry to die for their country.

Lives of great men all remind us, my boy, that we may make our lives sublime; but I never read one yet, that gave instructions for making our deaths sublime--to ourselves.

Yours, for continued respiration,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER XLIV.

SHOWING HOW THE GREAT BATTLE OF PARIS WAS FOUGHT AND WON BY THE MACKEREL BRIGADE, AIDED AND ABETTED BY THE IRON-PLATED FLEET OF COMMODORE HEAD.

WASHINGTON, D.C., May 10th, 1862.

I have just returned, my boy, from witnessing one of the most tremendous battles of modern times, and shall see star-spangled banners in every sunset for six months to come.

Hearing that the Southern Confederacy had evacuated Yorktown, for the reason that the Last Ditch had moved on the first of May to a place where there would be less rent from our cannon, I started early in the week for the quarters of the valorous and sanguinary Mackerel Brigade, expecting that it had gone toward Richmond for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

On reaching the Peninsula, however, I learned that the Mackerel "corpse dammee" had been left behind to capture the city of Paris in co-operation with a squadron.

Reaching the stamping-ground, my boy, I beheld a scene at once unique and impressive. Each individual Mackerel was seated on the ground, with a sheet of paper across his knees and an ink-bottle beside him, writing like an inspired poet.

I approached Captain Villiam Brown, who was covering some bare spots on his geometrical steed Euclid, with pieces scissored out of an old hair-trunk, and says I:

"Tell me, my n.o.ble Hector, what means this literary scene which mine eyes behold?"

"Ah!" says Villiam, setting down his glue-pot, "we are about to engage in a skrimmage from which not one may come out alive. These heroic beings," says Villiam, "are ready to die for their country at sight, and you now behold them making their wills. We shall march upon Paris,"

says Villiam, "as soon as I hear from Sergeant O'Pake, who has been sent to destroy a mill-dam belonging to the Southern Confederacy. Come with me, my nice little boy, and look at the squadron to take part in the attack."

This squadron, my boy, consisted of one twenty-eight-inch row-boat, mounting a twelve-inch swivel, and commanded by Commodore Head, late of the Ca.n.a.l-boat Service. It is iron-plated after a peculiar manner. When the ingenious chap who was to iron-plate it commenced his work, Commodore Head ordered him to put the plates on the _inside_ of the boat, instead of outside, as in the case of the Monitor and Galena.

"What do you mean?" says the contractor.

"Why," says the commodore, "ain't them iron plates intended to protect the crew?"

"Yes," says the contractor.

"Well, then, you poor ignorant cuss," says the commodore, in a great pa.s.sion, "what do you want to put the plates on the outside for? The crew won't be on the outside--will it? The crew will be on the inside--won't it? And how are you going to protect the crew on the inside by putting iron plates on the outside?"

Such reasoning, my boy, was convincing, and the Mackerel Squadron is plated inside.

While I was contemplating this new triumph of American naval architecture, and wondering what they would say about it in Europe, an orderly rode up and handed a sc.r.a.p of paper to Villiam.

"Ha!" says Villiam, perusing the message, and then pa.s.sing it to me, "the veteran O'Pake has not deceived the United States of America."

The message was directed to the General of the Mackerel Brigade, my boy, and read as follows:

"GENERAL:--_In accordance with your orders, I have destroyed the mill d--n._

"O'PAKE."

"And now," says Villiam, returning his canteen to his bosom and pulling out his ruffles, "the United States of America will proceed to capture Paris with great slaughter. Let the Brigade form in marching order, while the fleet proceeds around by water, after the manner of Lord Nelson."

The Mackerel Brigade was quickly on the march, headed by the band, who played an entirely new version of "Hail Columbia" on his key bugle.

Tramp, tramp, tramp! and we found ourselves in position before Paris.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MAP OF THE WORLD, SHOWING THE POSITION OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE AT THE GREAT BATTLE OF PARIS.]

Paris, my boy, was a city of two houses previous to the recent great fire, which destroyed half of it, and we found it fortified with a strong picket-fence and counterscarp earthworks, from the top of which frowned numerous guns of great compa.s.s.

The Mackerel Brigade was at once formed in line-of-battle-order--the line being not quite as straight as an ordinary Pennsylvania railroad--while the fleet menaced the water-front of the city from Duck Lake.

You may not be able to find Duck Lake on the maps, my boy, as it is only visible after a heavy rain.

Previous to the attack, a balloon, containing a Mackerel chap, and a telescope shaped like a bottle, was sent up to reconnoitre.

"Well," says Villiam to the chap when he came down, "what is the force of the Confederacy?"

The chap coughed respectfully, and says he:

"I could only see one Confederacy, which is an old woman!"

"Scorpion!" says Villiam, his eyes flashing like the bottoms of two reversed tumblers, "I believe you to be an accursed abolitionist. Go instantly to the rear," says Villiam, fiercely, "and read the Report of the Van Wyck Investigating Committee."

It was a terrible punishment, my boy, but the example was needed for the good of the service.

The Orange County Howitzers now advanced to the front, and poured a terrible fire in the direction of a point about half way between the nearest steeple and the meridian, working horrible carnage in a flock of pigeons that happened to be pa.s.sing at the time.

"Splendid, my glorious Prooshians!" says Villiam, just escaping a fall from his saddle by the convulsive start of Euclid, that n.o.ble war-horse having been suddenly roused from a pleasant doze by the firing--"Splendid, my artillery darlings. Only," says Villiam, thoughtfully, "as the sun is a friendly power, don't aim at him so accurately next time."

Meantime, Company 3, Regiment 5, had advanced from the right, and were just about to make a splendid bayonet-charge, by the oblique, over the picket-fence and earthwork, when the concealed Confederacy suddenly opened a deadly fire of old shoes, throwing the Mackerels into great confusion.

Almost simultaneously, a large potato struck the fleet on Duck Lake on the nose, so intensely exciting him that he incontinently touched off his swivel, to the great detriment of the surrounding country.

This was a critical moment, my boy; the least trifle on either side would have turned the scale, and given the victory to either party.

Villiam Brown had just a.s.sumed the att.i.tude in which he desired Frank Leslie's Ill.u.s.trated Artist to draw him, when a familiar domestic utensil came hissing through the lurid air from the rebel works, and exploded in two pieces at his feet.