The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers Volume Ii Part 15

Followed by Commodore Head, with his squadron on his shoulders, swearing as usual in his iron-plated manner, and vowing to capture Vicksburg before he was twenty years older.

Then advanced Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, Captain Bob Shorty, and Captain Samyule Sa-mith, each indignantly rejecting the idea that this movement was a retreat, and expressing the hope that Wendell Phillips would be immediately hung for it.

Then came a train of wagons containing all the provisions that could not be thrown away.

Succeeded by the Mackerel Brigade with shovels at a shoulder-arms, and noses suggestive of strawberry patches in the balmy month of June.

And was this _all_ the procession? you will ask; did nothing come after the Brigade itself?

I am not a positive man, my boy, and care not to a.s.sert a thing unless I positively know it to be true. It was growing dark when we reached our destination, and I could not see distinctly toward the rear: yet I think I _did_ see something coming after the Mackerel Brigade.

What was it?

It was the Southern Confederacy, my boy--the Southern Confederacy.

Your, excitedly, ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXIV.

SHOWING HOW THE COSMOPOLITANS MET AGAIN, TO BE INTRODUCED TO THE "NEUTRAL BRITISH GENTLEMAN," AND HEAR MR. BONBON'S FRENCH STORY.

WASHINGTON, D. C., August 25th, 1862

Ever since the British chap read all that unpublished British poetry at the Club, my boy, I have been anxious to favor him with an "Idyl,"

written by a friend of mine who has traveled much in Albion, and writes _ex-cathedra_. Last night there was a fair chance, and I then introduced

THE NEUTRAL BRITISH GENTLEMAN.

Incrusted in his island home that lies beyond the sea, Behold the great original and genuine 'TIS HE; A paunchy, fuming Son of Beef, with double weight of chin, And eyes that were benevolent--but for their singular tendency to turn green whenever it is remarked that his irrepressible American cousins have made another Treaty with China ahead of him--and taken Albion in.

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

With William, Duke of Normandy, his ancestors, he boasts, Came over from the sh.o.r.es of France to whip the Saxon hosts; And this he makes a source of pride; but wherefore there should be Such credit to an Englishman--in the fact that he is descended from a nation which England is forever pretending to regard as slightly her inferior in everything, and particularly behind her in military and naval affairs--we really cannot see.

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

He deals in Christianity, Episcopalian brand, And sends his missionaries forth to bully heathen land; Just mention "Slavery" to him, and with a pious sigh He'll say it's 'orrid, scandalous--although he's ready to fight for the Cotton raised by slaves, and forgets how he butchered the Chinese to make them take Opium, and blew the Sepoys from the guns because the poor devils refused to be enslaved by the East India Company--or his phi-lan-thro-py.

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

He yields to Brother Jonathan a love that pa.s.seth show-- "We're Hanglo-Saxons, both of us, and carn't be foes, you know."

But as a Christian Englishman, he cannot, cannot hide His horror of the spectacle--of four millions of black beings being held in bondage by a nation professing the largest liberty in the world, though in case of an anti-slavery crusade the interests of his Manchester factors would imperatively forbid him to--take part on either side.

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

Now seeing the said Jonathan by base rebellion stirred, And battling with pro-slavery, it might be thence inferred That British sympathy, at last, would spur him on to strife; But, strange to say, this sympathy--is labelled "NEUTRALITY,"

and consigned to any rebel port not too closely blockaded to permit English vessels, loaded with munitions, to slip in. And when you ask Mr. Bull what he means by this inconsistent conduct, he becomes virtuously indignant, rolls up his eyes, and says: "I carn't endure to see brothers murdering each other and keeping me out of my cotton--I carn't, upon my life!"

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

Supposing Mr. Bull should die, the question might arise: Will he be wanted down below, or wafted to the skies?

Allowing that he had his choice, it really seems to me The moral British Gentleman--would choose a front seat with his Infernal Majesty; since Milton, in his blank verse correspondence with old _Times_, more than once hinted the possibility of Nick's rebellion against Heaven succeeding; and as the Lower Secessia has cottoned to England through numerous Hanoverian reigns, such a choice on the part of the philanthropical Britisher would be simply another specimen--of his NEUTRAL-I-TY!

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

When Smith-Brown had heard that, my boy, he sniffed grievously, and says he: "England never _was_ happreciated in this blarsted country."

I believe him, my boy.

It being Bonbon's turn to read a story, he unrolled his papers and gave us

THE CONFESSION.

"During my short stay in France, I belonged to a convent of Carthusian monks, and there became acquainted with the man whose confession const.i.tutes my story. He had applied for admission to our order, as one who had tired of life's gaieties, and bestowed his wealth, which was enormous, upon the holy church. Brother Dominique was the name he a.s.sumed; and his austere devotion speedily gained him notoriety for great piety; but there was something so unnatural in his actions, and, at times, so incoherent in his speech, that we, who were his daily companions, involuntarily shuddered when he spoke to us. Among the various incongruities of his character, was a gloomy reserve--or, rather, pride, which repulsed all advances of friendship, and impressed upon the mind a conviction that Brother Dominique's religion was more like that of a hypocrite foiled in his schemes, than of a pure-minded man, whose sense of duty to his Creator had induced him to a.s.sume the serge and rosary. This conviction was more than confirmed by his occasional exclamations of anger and defiance, as though once more a prey to the pa.s.sions of an outer world; and, at the expiration of a year from the time of his entrance, the new brother was an object of suspicion, if not dislike, to the whole convent, excepting myself.

"My sentiments in regard to him were those of pity; for I felt confident that some great sorrow was preying upon his mind; and the wild agony which would often contort his whole countenance, while at evening prayers, made me anxious to know something of his history.

"One evening, having received an order to visit the cell of Dominique from our superior, I was surprised to find a curiously-fashioned lamp, burning in a niche, directly opposite an iron cot, on which the monk was sleeping. Knowing that the convent rules expressly forbade a light at that hour, I was about to extinguish it, when there fell upon my startled ear a loud yell, like that of a springing tiger, and, in an instant, I was seized by the throat. Filled with dismay, I struggled to extricate myself, when the beams of the lamp fell upon the writhing features of Dominique, pallid as those of a corpse, and spattered with froth from his lips.

"'Devil, I defy thee!' he exclaimed, dashing me violently against the wall; and then quitting his hold.

"'Brother Dominique, are you mad?' I asked, as soon as I could recover my breath.

"'It is a lie! I am not mad!' he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, glaring fiercely upon me, and biting his lip until the blood streamed from his beard.

"Hardly knowing what I did, I again approached the lamp; when he again sprang to my side, and pushed me violently from before it.

"'Must I kill you, too?' he said, in a whisper that pierced me.

"'You are excited,' I replied, with all the calmness I could muster. 'I thought you were asleep, or I should first have spoken to you about your lamp, the burning of which, at this late hour, is a violation of the rules.'

"He covered his face with his hands while I was speaking; and when he again looked up, all traces of former agitation had vanished.

"'Forgive me, father,' he said, with composure. 'Our superior has granted me the privilege of having a light always burning, as I am subject to fits, such as you have just witnessed, and cannot do without it. G.o.d have mercy upon me! I might have murdered you,' he added, turning suddenly pale again, and leaning against the damp wall.

"I delivered my message, being anxious to leave a being whose pa.s.sions were so violent when aroused; but he called me back as I turned away, and resting upon his hard bed, motioned for me to take a seat beside him.

"I hesitated about complying at first; but there was an expression of mingled sorrow and entreaty resting upon his whole countenance, that awoke my sympathy and conquered fear. Closing the door of the cell, I obeyed him in silence, and sat down with a feeling of awe not to be defined.

"'Father,' he said, laying one hand on each of my shoulders, and staring fixedly in my face, 'Will you hear me confess?'

"The extreme abruptness of the question made me start from him with a gesture of surprise, but I answered not.

"'Will you hear a tale of crime from a criminal?' he continued, pressing heavily upon me, 'a tale of murder from a murderer!'

"I felt convinced that I had a maniac to deal with, and remembering to have heard that any sign of timidity but added fuel to the fires of insanity, I steadily returned his stare, and responded as quietly as I could.

"'Brother Dominique, if your soul is burthened with crimes, why not confess to the superior who is our father confessor?'

"'No, no!' he exclaimed, frantically. 'To you, or no one.'