Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: January 22, 1864

At Mrs. Lyons's met another beautiful woman, Mrs. Penn, the wife of Colonel Penn, who is making shoes in a Yankee prison. She had a little son with her, barely two years old, a mere infant. She said to him, “Faites comme Butler.” The child crossed his eyes and made himself hideous, then laughed and rioted around as if he enjoyed the joke hugely.

Went to Mrs. Davis's. It was sad enough. Fancy having to be always ready to have your servants set your house on fire, being bribed to do it. Such constant robberies, such servants coming and going daily to the Yankees, carrying one's silver, one's other possessions, does not conduce to home happiness.

Saw Hood on his legs once more. He rode off on a fine horse, and managed it well, though he is disabled in one hand, too. After all, as the woman said, “He has body enough left to hold his soul.” “How plucky of him to ride a gay horse like that.” “Oh, a Kentuckian prides himself upon being half horse and half man!” “And the girl who rode beside him. Did you ever see a more brilliant beauty? Three cheers for South Carolina!!”

I imparted a plan of mine to Brewster. I would have a breakfast, a luncheon, a matinee, call it what you please, but I would try and return some of the hospitalities of this most hospitable people. Just think of the dinners, suppers, breakfasts we have been to. People have no variety in war times, but they make up for that lack in exquisite cooking.

“Variety,” said he. “You are hard to please, with terrapin stew, gumbo, fish, oysters in every shape, game, and wine — as good as wine ever is. I do not mention juleps, claret cup, apple toddy, whisky punches and all that. I tell you it is good enough for me. Variety would spoil it. Such hams as these Virginia people cure; such home-made bread — there is no such bread in the world. Call yours a ‘cold collation.’” “Yes, I have eggs, butter, hams, game, everything from home; no stint just now; even fruit.”

“You ought to do your best. They are so generous and hospitable and so unconscious of any merit, or exceptional credit, in the matter of hospitality.” “They are no better than the Columbia people always were to us.” So I fired up for my own country.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 281-2

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Friday, May 9, 1862

During the night we expected an attack every hour. Pickets fired two or three times. Companies were called out into line for a fight early in the morning — at four. Mounted at eight and went six or eight miles and fed oats and corn. Traveled through a fine valley, hills on both sides. Reached Neosho at dusk. Went for corn to a widow's a mile from town. Slept on the porch at a hotel. Ate there. Good joke on Lt. Nettleton. The next morning when he presented the lady a five dollar bill, she quietly doubled it up and gave no change. Hear cannonading east.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 14

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, March 6, 1865

March 6, 1865

I think I must relate to you a small story which they have as a joke against Major-General Crawford. As the story will indicate, the Major-General has some reputation for possessing a decided admiration of the looks and figure of his own self. There came to the army a young artist, who was under a certain monied person. The young artist was to make models for bronze medallions, and the monied person was to sell the same and take the profits, if any. He proposed to model the commander of the army, and each of the corps commanders, and General Webb, but no one else. As the artist was modelling away at General Webb, he asked: “Isn't General Crawford rather an odd man?” “What makes you ask that?” says the Chief-of Staff? “Why, he waked me up in the middle of the night, and asked what I could make a statuette of him for! I told him $400 and he said he thought he would have it done!” Webb, who is a cruel wag, said naught, but, the next time he met C., asked him if he had seen the young sculptor who had come down. “Seen him!” quoth C. “My dear fellow, he has done nothing but follow me round, boring me to sit for a statuette!”

General Hunt was telling me an anecdote of Grant, which occurred during the Mexican War and which illustrates what men may look for in the way of fame. It was towards the last of the fighting, at the time when our troops took by assault the works immediately round the City of Mexico. Grant was regimental quartermaster of the regiment commanded by Colonel Garland; and, it appears, at the attack on the Campo Santo, he, with about a dozen men, got round the enemy's flank and was first in the work. Somewhat after, he came to the then Lieutenant Hunt and said: “Didn't you see me go first into that work the other day?” “Why, no,” said Hunt, “it so happened I did not see you, though I don't doubt you were in first.” “Well,” replied Grant, “I was in first, and here Colonel Garland has made no mention of me! The war is nearly done; so there goes the last chance I ever shall have of military distinction!” The next time, but one, that Hunt saw him, was at Culpeper, just after he was made Lieutenant-General. “Well, sir!” cried our Chief-of-Artillery, “I am glad to find you with some chance yet left for military distinction!”

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 312-3

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, March 5, 1865

March 5, 1865

. . . Well, the rain held up and some blue sky began to show, and I mounted on what I shall have to call my Anne of Cleves — for, in the choice words of that first of gentlemen, Henry VIII, she is “a great Flanders mare” — and rode forth for a little exercise. Verily I conceived we should rester en route, s[u]ch was the mud in one or two places! She would keep going deeper and deeper, and I would strive to pick out a harder path and would by no means succeed. Nevertheless, I made out to find some terra firma, at last, and, by holding to the ridges got a very fair ride after all. I found not much new out there, towards the Jerusalem plank: some cavalry camped about, as usual, and a new railroad branch going to supply them, and called Gregg's branch. Gregg, by the way, has resigned. He is a loss to the service, and has commanded a cavalry division very successfully for a long time. I don't know why he went out, since he is a regular officer. Some say it is a pretty wife, which is likely, seeing the same had worked in that style with others. Then there is Major Sleeper, resigned too. He has served long and well, and been wounded; so I say, what a pity that he should not stick to the end. It is human nature to expect a full performance of duty, when once a man has done decidedly well. These branch railroads are like mushrooms, and go shooting out at the shortest notice. The distinguished Botiano was entirely taken down by the performances of this sort. Just at the time of our new extension to the left, he went for a few days to Washington. When he got back, he was whisked over five miles of new railroad, including a number of bridges! This upset him wholly, and it was hard to make him believe that there hadn't been an old line there before. Now where do you suppose I went last night? Why, to the theatre! Certainly, in my private carriage to the theatre; that is to say, on horseback, for may high powers forfend me from an ambulance over corduroys and these mud-holes! Rather would I die a rather swifter death. To explain, you must understand that good Colonel Spaulding commands a regiment of engineers, a fine command of some 1800 men. As they are nearly all mechanics, they are very handy at building and have erected, among other things, a large building, which is a church on Sundays, and a theatre on secular occasions. Thither the goodly Flint rode with me. On the outside was about half the regiment, each man armed with a three-legged stool, and all waiting to march into the theatre. We found the edifice quite a rustic gem. Everything, except the nails, is furnished by the surrounding woods and made by the men themselves. The building has the form of a short cross and is all of rustic work; the walls and floors of hewn slabs and the roof covered with shingles nailed on beams, made with the bark on. What corresponds to the left-side aisle was railed off for officers only, while the rest was cram-full of men. The illumination of the hall was furnished by a rustic chandelier, that of the stage by army lanterns, and by candles, whose rays were elegantly reflected by tin plates bought from the sutler. The entertainment was to be “minstrels”; and, to be sure, in walked an excellent counterpart of Morris, Pell, and Trowbridge, who immediately began an excellent overture, in which the tambourine gentleman, in particular, was most brilliant and quite convulsed the assembled engineers. The performances were, indeed, most creditable, and there was not a word of any sort of coarseness throughout. A grand speech on the state of the country, by a brother in a pair of gunny-bag trousers, was quite a gem. He had an umbrella, of extraordinary pattern, with which he emphasized his periods by huge whacks on the table. I think the jokes were as ingeniously ridiculous as could be got up, and that, you know, is the great thing in minstrels. Brudder Bones came a little of the professional by asking his friend: “What can yer play on dat banjo?” “Anyting,” says the unwary friend. “Well, den, play a game o' billiards!” “Can't play no billiards! kin play a tune” cries the indignant friend. “Well den, if yer kin play a tune, jis play a pon-toon!” All to the inextinguishable delight of the engineers. After the play the good Colonel, who is one of the salt of the earth, insisted on my taking pigs’ feet as a supper.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 310-2

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: March 11, 1862

A freshman came quite eager to be instructed in all the wiles of society. He wanted to try his hand at a flirtation, and requested minute instructions, as he knew nothing whatever: he was so very fresh. “Dance with her,” he was told, “and talk with her; walk with her and natter her; dance until she is warm and tired; then propose to walk in a cool, shady piazza. It must be a somewhat dark piazza. Begin your promenade slowly; warm up to your work; draw her arm closer and closer; then, break her wing.”

“Heavens, what is that — break her wing?” “Why, you do not know even that? Put your arm round her waist and kiss her. After that, it is all plain sailing. She comes down when you call like the coon to Captain Scott: ‘You need not fire, Captain,’ etc.”

The aspirant for fame as a flirt followed these lucid directions literally, but when he seized the poor girl and kissed her, she uplifted her voice in terror, and screamed as if the house was on fire. So quick, sharp, and shrill were her yells for help that the bold flirt sprang over the banister, upon which grew a strong climbing rose. This he struggled through, and ran toward the college, taking a bee line. He was so mangled by the thorns that he had to go home and have them picked out by his family. The girl's brother challenged him. There was no mortal combat, however, for the gay young fellow who had led the freshman's ignorance astray stepped forward and put things straight. An explanation and an apology at every turn hushed it all up.

Now, we all laughed at this foolish story most heartily. But Mr. Venable remained grave and preoccupied, and was asked: “Why are you so unmoved? It is funny.” “I like more probable fun; I have been in college and I have kissed many a girl, but never a one scrome yet.”

Last Saturday was the bloodiest we have had in proportion to numbers.¹ The enemy lost 1,500. The handful left at home are rushing to arms at last. Bragg has gone to join Beauregard at Columbus, Miss, Old Abe truly took the field in that Scotch cap of his.

Mrs. McCord,² the eldest daughter of Langdon Cheves, got up a company for her son, raising it at her own expense. She has the brains and energy of a man. To-day she repeated a remark of a low-country gentleman, who is dissatisfied: “This Government (Confederate) protects neither person nor property.'” Fancy the scornful turn of her lip! Some one asked for Langdon Cheves, her brother. “Oh, Langdon!” she replied coolly, “he is a pure patriot; he has no ambition. While I was there, he was letting Confederate soldiers ditch through his garden and ruin him at their leisure.”

Cotton is five cents a pound and labor of no value at all; it commands no price whatever. People gladly hire out their negroes to have them fed and clothed, which latter can not be done. Cotton osnaburg at 37½ cents a yard, leaves no chance to clothe them. Langdon was for martial law and making the bloodsuckers disgorge their ill-gotten gains. We, poor fools, who are patriotically ruining ourselves will see our children in the gutter while treacherous dogs of millionaires go rolling by in their coaches — coaches that were acquired by taking advantage of our necessities.

This terrible battle of the ships — Monitor, Merrimac, etc. All hands on board the Cumberland went down. She fought gallantly and fired a round as she sank. The Congress ran up a white flag. She fired on our boats as they went up to take off her wounded. She was burned. The worst of it is that all this will arouse them to more furious exertions to destroy us. They hated us so before, but how now?

In Columbia I do not know a half-dozen men who would not gaily step into Jeff Davis's shoes with a firm conviction that they would do better in every respect than he does. The monstrous conceit, the fatuous ignorance of these critics! It is pleasant to hear Mrs. McCord on this subject, when they begin to shake their heads and tell us what Jeff Davis ought to do.

_______________

¹ On March 7 and 8, 1862, occurred the battle of Pea Ridge in Western Arkansas, where the Confederates were defeated, and on March 8th and 9th, occurred the conflict in Hampton Roads between the warships Merrimac, Cumberland, Congress, and Monitor.

² Louisa Susanna McCord, whose husband was David J. McCord, a lawyer of Columbia, who died in 1855. She was educated in Philadelphia, and was the author of several books of verse, including Caius Gracchus, a tragedy; she was also a brilliant pamphleteer,

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 138-40

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: August 25, 1861

Mr. Barnwell says democracies lead to untruthfulness. To be always electioneering is to be always false; so both we and the Yankees are unreliable as regards our own exploits. “How about empires? Were there ever more stupendous lies than the Emperor Napoleon's?” Mr. Barnwell went on: “People dare not tell the truth in a canvass; they must conciliate their constituents. Now everybody in a democracy always wants an office; at least, everybody in Richmond just now seems to want one.” Never heeding interruptions, he went on: “As a nation, the English are the most truthful in the world.” “And so are our country gentlemen: they own their constituents — at least, in some of the parishes, where there are few whites; only immense estates peopled by negroes.” Thackeray speaks of the lies that were told on both sides in the British wars with France; England kept quite alongside of her rival in that fine art. England lied then as fluently as Russell lies about us now.

Went to see Agnes De Leon, my Columbia school friend. She is fresh from Egypt, and I wished to hear of the Nile, the crocodiles, the mummies, the Sphinx, and the Pyramids. But her head ran upon Washington life, such as we knew it, and her soul was here. No theme was possible but a discussion of the latest war news.

Mr. Clayton, Assistant Secretary of State, says we spend two millions a week. Where is all that money to come from? They don't want us to plant cotton, but to make provisions. Now, cotton always means money, or did when there was an outlet for it and anybody to buy it. Where is money to come from now?

Mr. Barnwell's new joke, I dare say, is a Joe Miller, but Mr. Barnwell laughed in telling it till he cried. A man was fined for contempt of court and then, his case coming on, the Judge talked such arrant nonsense and was so warped in his mind against the poor man, that the “fined one” walked up and handed the august Judge a five-dollar bill, “Why? What is that for?” said the Judge. “Oh, I feel such a contempt of this court coming on again!”

I came up tired to death; took down my hair; had it hanging over me in a Crazy Jane fashion; and sat still, hands over my head (half undressed, but too lazy and sleepy to move). I was sitting in a rocking-chair by an open window taking my ease and the cool night air, when suddenly the door opened and Captain walked in.

He was in the middle of the room before he saw his mistake; he stared and was transfixed, as the novels say. I dare say I looked an ancient Gorgon. Then, with a more frantic glare, he turned and fled without a word. I got up and bolted the door after him, and then looked in the glass and laughed myself into hysterics. I shall never forget to lock the door again. But it does not matter in this case. I looked totally unlike the person bearing my name, who, covered with lace cap, etc., frequents the drawing-room. I doubt if he would know me again.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 110-1

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, August 6, 1864

August 6, 1864

I took a limited ride along our flank defences, where I discovered a patriotic sentry, sitting with his back to where the enemy might be supposed to come, and reading a novel! He belonged to the 7th Indiana. “What are your instructions?” say I. “Han't got none,” replies the peruser of novels. “Then what are you here for?” “Well, I am a kind of an alarm sentinel,” said this literary militaire. “Call the corporal of the guard,” said I, feeling much disposed to laugh. The sentry looked about a little and then singling out a friend, called out: “Oh, Jim, why, won't you just ask Jeremiah Miles to step this way?” After some delay, Jeremiah appeared. He was in a pleasing state of ignorance. Did not know the sentry's instructions, did not know who the officer of the guard was, did not know much of anything. “Well,” said I, “now suppose you go and find the sergeant of the guard.” This he did with great alacrity. The sergeant, as became his office, knew more than the corporal. He was clear that the sentry should not read a book; also that his conduct in sitting down was eccentric; but, when it came to who was the officer of the guard, his naturally fine mind broke down. He knew the officer if he saw him, but could not remember his name. This he would say, the officer was a lieutenant. “Suppose you should try to find him,” suggested I. Of course that he could do; and soon the “Loo-tenant” appeared. To him I talked like a father; almost like a grandfather, in fact; showed him the man's musket was rusty and that he was no good whatsoever. Loo-tenant had not much to say; indeed, so to speak, nothing; and I left him with a strong impression that you can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear. It is not ludicrous, but sad, to see such soldiers in this Army of the Potomac, after three years of experience. The man could not have been better: tall, strong, respectful, and docile; but no one had ever taught him. It was a clear case of waste of fine material, left in all its crudity instead of being worked up. And this is the grand characteristic of this war — waste. We waste arms, clothing, ammunition, and subsistence; but, above all, men. We don't make them go far enough, because we have no military or social caste to make officers from. Regiments that have been officered by gentlemen of education have invariably done well, like the 2d, 20th, and 24th Massachusetts, and the 1st Massachusetts Cavalry. Even the 44th and the 45th, nine-monthers, behaved with credit; though there was this drawback in them, that the privates were too familiar with the officers, having known them before. However, perfection does not exist anywhere, and we should be thankful for the manifold virtues our soldiers do pre-eminently possess. I see much to make me more contented in reading Napier, before referred to. After the taking of Badajos, the English allowed their own wounded to lie two days in the breach, without an attempt to carry them off. This is the nation that now gives us very good lectures on humanity. As to old Wellington, I suspect he was about as savage an old brute as would be easy to find.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 206-7

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Tuesday, March 15, 1864

We were relieved from guard at the roundhouse, and I received my transportation papers from the provost marshal. I was promoted today from “high private in the rear rank” to sixth corporal in the front rank, my commission to date from March 1, 1864.¹

_______________

¹ This was indeed a surprise to me, as I had never asked for any office. The expression in quotations was a war-time saying, a joke of the privates.— A. G. D.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 174

The Black Emperor and the Ice

The Pine and Palm tells a story received by letter from Hayti, [illegible]ing the Emperor Soulouque:–

“An American sea captain made the Emperor a present of a chunk of ice, which was carried to the palace wrapped in a blanket.  He was greatly pleased with it, and placed it in a room which a soldier was ordered to guard.  A few days after it was put there the Emperor remembered it, and went to show it to some of his friends.  There lay the blanket, but ice there was none.  The only evidence of its existence was a very wet floor.

“‘Where is that ice?’ he said – (as the white folks reported.)

“The soldier was ignorant – [illegible phrase].

 “‘Where is that ice?’ asked the furious monarch.

“‘Don’t know,’ said the soldier.

“‘Don’t know?  You’ve sole it!  Don’t know?  Guards, take that man and flog him until he gets that ice!’

“The poor fellow was flogged, it is said, but [t]he heat did not render [b]ack the ice.”

– Published in The Union Sentinel, Osceola, Iowa, Saturday, October 17, 1862, p. 1

A Cheering Prospect

A wit says the successes of our navy in the southern coast will soon enable to President to be hospitable enough to open a little port almost every day after dinner. – N. Y. Evening Post.

– Published in The Davenport Daily Gazette, Davenport, Iowa, Wednesday Morning, May 21, 1862, p. 2

Badly Sold

A stranger made his appearance the other day at Shocoquon, on the other side, of a seedy appearance, inquiring for work.  Upon being questioned by Mr. K., a citizen, as to wages he declared that he wanted no wages – all he wanted was his board.  He wanted no money.  The fact was, he had about fifty dollars which was troubling him, and which he did not know what to do with.  Mr. K., seeing that he was a stranger, having money, concluded to take him in, and suggested that he could make such arrangements as would relive him of the fifty. – He asked the shabby stranger if he could run.  Yes.  He then proposed to bring a man in from the country who would run him seventy-five yards for the fifty.  This was done, and the race took place the same afternoon.  When the money had been staked, the stranger took of his duds, coming out a lithe, graceful and muscular man, in a close-fitting dress well adapted to the business in hand.  He won the race by one hundred feet, relieved Mr. K. of fifty and immediately departed. – Hawkeye, 10th.

– Published in The Davenport Daily Gazette, Davenport, Iowa, Wednesday Morning, May 14, 1862, p. 2

An Incident at Nashville

One of the soldiers of the 69th regiment Ohio, now in Nashville, writes to a fellow citizen that the Secesh are still rife and rabid among the rich and purse-proud in that city and in the State of Tennessee.  The laboring classes and the poor are devoted to the Union, and greet our troops wherever they go.  The correspondent gives an amusing incident which occurred between him and two ladies (?) of the rebel corps in Nashville:  “I happened to stop to look in a window, where there were some engravings, two finely dressed ladies standing by at the same place; one of them slightly turned her head and looked at me disdainfully, and curling up her lips, remarked to her companion, ‘Another Lincoln hireling.’  I stood on my dignity, and replied ‘that my daddy was wealthier than hers.’  ‘Who is he, pray, sir?’ said she scornfully.  ‘Uncle Sam’s my daddy,’ said I, ‘and Jonathan’s my brother.’  She caved.”

– Published in The Davenport Daily Gazette, Davenport, Iowa, Friday Morning, May 2, 1862, p. 2

Letter From Orpheus C, Kerr

Pegasus Recovered – the Dog Bologna – Repudiation of Captain Villiam Brown’s Proclamation – the Sambory Guard – Advance on Richmond

(From the N. Y. Sunday Mercury.)

Rejoice with me, my boy, that I have got back my gothic steed, Pegasus, from the Government chap who borrowed him for a desk.  The splendid architectural animal has just enough slant from his backbone to his hips to make a capital desk, and then his tail is so handy to wipe pens on.  In a moment of thirst he swallowed a bottle of ink, and some fears were entertained for his life, but a gross of steel pens and a ream of blotting paper immediately administered caused him to come out all write.

In a gothic sense, my boy the charger continues to produce architectural illusions.  He was standing on a hillside the other day with his rear elevation toward the spectators, his head up and ears touching at the top, when a chap who had been made pious by frequent conversation with the contrabands, noticed him afar off, and says he to the soldier, “What church is that I behold in the distance, my fellow worm of the dust?”  The military veteran looked and says he, “It does look like a church, but it’s only an animated hay rack belonging to the cavalry.”

“I see,” says the pious chap, moving on, “the beast looks like a church because he’s been accustomed to steeple chases.”

I have also much satisfaction in the society of my dog, Bologna, who has already become so attached to me that I believe he would defend me against any amount of meat.  Like the Old Guard of France, he’s always around the bony parts thrown, and like a bon vivant is much given to whining after his dinner.

The last time I was at Paris my boy, this interesting animal made a good breakfast off the calves of the General of the Mackerel Brigadier’s leg’s, causing that great strategical commander to issue enough oaths for the whole Southern Confederacy.  “Thunder!” says the General, at the conclusion of his cursory remarks, “I shall have the hydrophobia and bite somebody.  It’s my opinion,” says the General, hastily licking a few grains of sugar from the spoon he was holding at the time, “It’s my opinion, that I shall go rabid as soon as I see water.”

“Then you’re perfectly safe, my conquering hero,” says I, “for when you see water, the Atlantic ocean will be principally composed of brandy pale.”

Speaking of Paris, it pains me, my boy, to say that Captain Villiam Brown’s proclamation for the conciliation of Southern Union men has been repudiated by the General of the Mackerel Brigade.  “Thunder!” says the General, taking a cork from his pocket in mistake for a watch key, “it’s against the Constitution to open a bar so far away from where Congress sits.”  And he at once issued the following:

PROCLAMATION

WHEREAS There appears in the public prints what presumptuously pretends to be a proclamation of Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, in the words following, to wit.

PROCLAMATION – The Union men of the South are hereby informed, that the United States of America has reasserted hisself, and will shortly open a bar-room in Paris.  Also, cigars and other necessaries of life.

By Order of

CAPT. VILLIAM BROWN, ESKEVIRE

And whereas, the same is producing much excitement among those members from the border States who would prefer that said bar-room should be nearer Washington in case of sickness, Therefore, I, General of the Mackerel Brigade, do proclaim and declare that the Mackerel Brigade cannot stand this sort of thing, and that neither Captain Villiam Brown, nor any other commander, has been authorized to declare free lunch, either by implication or otherwise, in any State, much less in a state of intoxication, of which there are several.

To persons in this State, now, I earnestly appeal.  I do not argue, I beseech you to mix your own liquors.  You can not, if you would, be blind to the signs of the times, when such opportunity is offered to see double.  I beg of a calm and immense consideration of them (signs), ranging, it may be, above personal liquor establishments.  The change you may receive after purchasing your materials will come gently as the dues from heaven – not rending nor wrecking anything.  Will you not embrace me?  May the extensive future not have to lament that you have neglected to do so.

Yours, respectfully, the

GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE

(Green seal.)

When Villiam read this conservative proclamation, my boy, he looked thoughtfully into a recently occupied tumbler for a few moments, and then says he:

“There’s some intelleck in that.  The General covers the whole ground.  Ah!” says Villiam, preparing, in a dreamy manner, to wash out the tumbler with something from a decanter, “the General so completely covers the whole ground sometimes that the police departmink is required to clear it.”

I believe him, my boy!

The intelligent and reliable contrabands, my boy, who have come into Paris from time to time, with the valuable news concerning all recent movements not taking place in the Confederacy were formed lately, by Villiam, into a military company, called the Sambory Guard, Captain Bob Shorty being deputed to drill them in the colored manual of arms.  They were dressed in flaming read breeches and black coats, my boy, and each chaotic chap looked like a section of stove pipe walking about on two radishes.

I attended the first drill my boy, and found the oppressed Africans standing in line about as regular as so many trees in a maple swamp.

Captain Bob Shorty whipped out his sleepless sword, straightened it on a log, stepped to the front, and was just about to give the first order, when, suddenly he started, threw up his nose, and stood paralyzed.

“What’s the matter, my blue and gilt,” says I.

He stood like one in a dream and says he:

“‘Pears to me I smell something.”

“Yes,” says I, “‘tis the scent of the roses that hang around it still.”

“True,” says Captain Bob Shorty, recovering, “it does smell like a cent, and I haven’t seen a cent of my pay for such a long time, that the novelty of the odor knocked me.  Attention, company!”

Only five of the troops were enough startled by the sudden order, my boy, to drop their guns, and only four stooped down to tie their shoes.  One very reliable contraband left the ranks, and says he:

“Mars’r, hadn’t Brudder Rhett bett gub out de hymn before de service commence?”

“Order in the ranks!” says Capt. Bob Shorty, with some asperity, “Attention, company! – Order arms.”

The troops did this very well, my boy, the muskets coming down at intervals of three minutes, bringing each man’s cap with them and pointing so regularly toward all points of the compass, that no foe could possibly approach from any direction without running on a bayonet.

“Excellent!” says Captain Bob Shorty, with enthusiasm.  “Only, Mr. Rhett, you needn’t hold your gun quite so much like a hoe.  Carry Arms!”

Here Mr. Dana stepped out from the ranks, and says he: “Carry who, mars’r?”

“Go to the rear,” says Capt. Bob Shorty, indignantly.  “Present Arms!”

If Present Arms means to sick your bayonet into the next mans side, my boy, the troops did it very well.

Splendid!” says Capt. Bob Shorty.  “Shoulder Arms – Eyes right – double quick, march!  On to Richmond!”

The troops obeyed the order, my boy, and haven’t been seen since.  Perhaps they’re going yet, my boy.

Company Three, Regiment 5 Mackerel Brigade, started for an advance on Richmond yesterday, and by a forced march got within three miles of it.  Another march brought them within five miles of the place, and the last dispatch stated that they had but ten miles to go before reaching the rebel capital.

Military travel, my boy, is like the railroad at the West, where they had to make chalk marks on the track to see which way the train was going.

Yours on time,

ORPHEUS C. KERR

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, June 7, 1862, p. 1

A Western Governor And Somebody's Pretty Sister

The Washington correspondent of the New York Tribune relates the following:

A clerk in one of the Departments in Washington was lately detected in the act of communicating information to the rebels and was immediately discharged.  A few day[s] after he appeared at the Secretary’s office with a letter asking his re-appointment.  This letter was from a Governor of one of the Western States.  He writes to the Secretary that the ex-clerk is an old and intimate friend of his, a good and loyal citizen, has been most unjustly dealt by, and winds up by asking it as a particular personal favor that the ex-Clerk be reinstated in his office.  And the request was immediately complied with!  Directly after an acquaintance meeting Mr. Reinstated said to him:

“Where did you get acquainted with Governor _____?”

“I never was acquainted with him – never spoke to him in my life.”

“How then did you get such a strong letter from him to the Secretary?”

“Oh I have a pretty sister who went to Alexandria the other day with the Governor.  She procured the letter for me.”

The story is well authenticated and the writer believes it is true.  But what should be the punishment of a man who would thus betray his country or what is the same in effect protect those who would betray it?

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, February 1, 1862, p. 3

A Darkey's Speech

In one of the small cities of Massachusetts, the colored population held a meeting to discuss the propriety of celebrating the anniversary of the West India emancipation.  At one of these meetings a conservative gentleman was exceedingly surprised to see some of the “fair sex rising and taking part in the discussion.”  After two or three of the sisters had “freed dar mines” on matters under debate he spring up in a greatly excited state and addressed the audience.

Feller citizens.  Ef I’d spose at de ladies would be permitted to take part in dis yere discussion – (sensation) – ef I’d none dat de ladies cud jine in dis yere debate – (all eyes turned on the speaker) – ef I’d belebe for one moment, feller citizens, at de female sect would dare rase thar voices in dis yere meeting, I’d Feller citizens –

“Wot – wot would you’ve did ef you’d a none it?” shouted two or three of the sisters and the white of their eyes flashed on the speaker.

I – (scratching his wool) – I’d a brung my wife along wid me.

Here the discomfited orator dropped into his seat completely exhausted.

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, February 1, 1862, p. 3

Juvenile Anecdotes

A little girl of three years from beyond the Mississippi who had never seen an apple tree in full bloom beheld one in Ohio.  She lifted her fat hands in the attitude of devotion and exclaimed, “See God’s big bouquet!”

Another child of five years having seen her father for the first time, having been absent in California was much astonished that he should claim any authority over her and upon one occasion of rebellion, as he administered punishment she cried out, “I wish you had never married into our family.”

Another little one being called by her sick mother who said to her, “After I am gone, I hope you will love your father dearly and take care of him as I have done,” replied with assumed importance, “Yes, I’ll keep him out of mischief.” –{Home Monthly.

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, February 1, 1862, p. 3

Incidents of the Battle at Webb’s Cross Roads

While the body of Zollicoffer lay upon the ground in front of a Minnesota tent surrounded by soldiers an excited officer rode up exclaiming to the men, “What in h-ll are you doing here?  Why are you not at the stretchers bringing in the wounded?”  “This is Zollicoffer,” said a soldier.  “I know that,” replied the officer – “he is dead and could not have been sent to h--- by a better man, for Col. Fry shot him – leave him and go to your work.”

When the two Parrott guns were planted on the hill at Brown’s house overlooking the enemy’s camp, the peculiar wh-r-r-r of the shells was new to our astonished darkie who with hat off and eyes protruding, exclaimed to his sable companion, “Gosh Almighty Sam, don’t dat go howlin trou de wilderness?”

In nearly a direct line with the course we had marched from the battle field to the rebel works, is a bold elevation about three fourths of a mile this side of said works on which one of our batteries was immediately planted and commenced throwing shot and shell into their camp.  Several regiments had lain down upon the ground to rest from the fatigue of their march and as the rebels answered but feebly, with two guns their shot passed high over the heads of our men. – As the intervals grew longer and longer – watching the shot became a matter of amusement with them. – “Secesh ball!  Secesh ball!” they would cry out, while half a dozen would start and run after it – others calling out, “Run harder or you won’t overtake it.”  While this amusement was going on a rabbit sprang out of a bush between the lines when the cry, “Secesh ball!  Secesh ball,” and the boys took after it with better success, for they caught it.

Upon the high ground last referred to the rebels made a brief stand half an hour before we reached it, but were driven off by a few shots from Stannard’s Battery.  One of these six pound shots struck a poplar tree about two feet in diameter, directly in the center and some twenty feet from the General, passing entirely through the tree, tearing off splinters eight or ten feet long and passing on “thro de wilderness.” – Another shot struck a tree seven or eight inches in diameter directly beside the other but lower down cutting it off nearly as square as though it had been done with a saw.

Being among the first who entered the rebel fortifications I discovered a barrel which proved to contain apple brandy.  Pulling out the corn cob from the bung hole I turned it up and filled a canteen.  While doing this one of Bob McCook’s skirmishers came in and says, “vat you gets there?”  I replied that it appeared to be pretty fair apple brandy upon which the Dutch man ran to the door calling out furiously, “Hans!  Henrick! schnaps!  See come a rous!”  Upon which a dozen Dutchmen came in, and the brandy which was not spilled upon the ground was soon transferred to their canteens.  I said, “boys you had better look out – this is a doctor’s shop, and there may be strychnine in that brandy.”  They paused a moment to look at each other when one of them exclaimed, “Py Got, Hans, I tells you vat I do.  I drinks some and if it don’t kill me, den you trinks” – upon which he took a long and hearty pull at his canteen and smacking his lips a moment said, “All right, Hans, go ahead.”

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, February 1, 1862, p. 3

A Boy Outwits Secesh

The following sharp practice of a boy ten years old, son of Mrs. Horine occurred last week in Barre county, Mo.  The lad and his mother were riding a colt on the open prairie, when they were met by a squad of Secesh from Granby, who ordered them to dismount.  The leader placed his saddle on the colt, mounted the latter, and was thrown off quicker than thought.  Boy exclaimed “Good!” at which manifestation secesh swore roundly.  “Gentlemen there is a curl on that colt’s neck by which you can always know him.”  They desired the boy to point out the mark, when the little fellow stepping up to his favorite animal grasped the mane with one hand and with the other slipped off the bridle.  Colt, as if understanding the joke “skedaddled over the plain,” leaving the captors perfectly astounded at being thus so outwitted.

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, February 1, 1862, p. 3

An old friend from Springfield . . .

. . . lately called to see the President.  After the usual greetings, etc., ‘Lincoln,’ said he, ‘when you turned out Cameron why didn’t you turn out all the rest of your Cabinet?’  ‘That,’ said the President, ‘makes me think of something that took place near home in Illinois.  An old man had been pestered with a colony of skunks, that depredated nightly upon his poultry.  He determined to be rid of them, and finally succeeded in getting them into one hole, where he could kill them at his pleasure.  He drew one forth by the tail and executed him, but, said he, in telling the story, this caused such an infernal stench that he was glad to let the rest run.’

– Published in The Cedar Valley Times, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Thursday, April 17, 1862, p. 1

Very Laconic

An amusing sword presentation was made on the 17th by officers of the Seventy-eighth Pennsylvania to their Colonel, Wm. Sirwell.  The presentation speech of Capt. Gillespie was, “Here we are and here you are.  This is a bully sword and came from bully fellows.  Take it, and use it in a bully manner.”  Col. Sirwell’s reply was, “Captain, that was a bully speech, let us take a bully drink.”

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, February 8, 1862, p. 2