The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, Series 1. R. H. Newell
And with windows tow'rd Mount Vernon, windows tow'rd Potomac's shore,
Sat a figure, stern and awful; Chief, but not the Chieftain lawful
Of the land whose grateful millions Washington's great name adore—
Sat the form—a shade majestic of a Chieftain gone before,
Thine to honor, Baltimore!
There he sat in silence, gazing, by a single planet's blazing,
At a map outspread before him wide upon the marble floor;
And if 'twere for mortal proving that those reverend lips were moving,
While the eyes were closely scanning one mapped city o'er and o'er—
While he saw but one great city on that map upon the floor—
They were whispering—"Baltimore."
Thus he sat, nor word did utter, till there came a sudden flutter,
And the sound of beating wings was heard upon the carvéd door.
In a trice the bolts were broken; by those lips no word was spoken,
As an Eagle, torn and bloody, dim of eye, and wounded sore,
Fluttered down upon the map, and trailed a wing all wet with gore
O'er the name of Baltimore!
Then that noble form uprising, with a gesture of surprising,
Bent with look of keenest sorrow tow'rd the bird that drooped before;
"Emblem of my country!" said he, "are thy pinions stained already
In a tide whose blending waters never ran so red before?
Is it with the blood of kinsmen? Tell me quickly, I implore!"
Croaked the eagle—"Baltimore!"
"Eagle," said the Shade, advancing, "tell me by what dread mischancing
Thou, the symbol of my people, bear'st thy plumes erect no more?
Why dost thou desert mine army, sent against the foes that harm me,
Through my country, with a Treason worlds to come shall e'er deplore?"
And the Eagle on the map, with bleeding wing, as just before,
Blurred the name of Baltimore!
"Can it be?" the spectre muttered. "Can it be?" those pale lips uttered;
"Is the blood Columbia treasures spilt upon its native shore?
Is there in the land so cherished, land for whom the great have perished,
Men to shed a brother's blood as tyrant's blood was shed before?
Where are they who murder Peace before the breaking out of war?"
Croaked the Eagle—"Baltimore."
At the word, of sound so mournful, came a frown, half sad, half scornful,
O'er the grand, majestic face where frown had never been before;
And the hands to Heaven uplifted, with an awful pow'r seemed gifted
To plant curses on a head, and hold them there forevermore—
To rain curses on a land, and bid them grow forevermore—
Woe art thou, O Baltimore!
Then the sacred spirit, fading, left upon the floor a shading,
As of one with arms uplifted, from a distance bending o'er;
And the vail of night grew thicker, and the death-watch beat the quicker
For a death within a death, and sadder than the death before!
And a whispering of woe was heard upon Potomac's shore—
Hear it not, O Baltimore!
And the Eagle, never dying, still is trying, still is trying,
With its wings upon the map to hide a city with its gore;
But the name is there forever, and it shall be hidden never,
While the awful brand of murder points the Avenger to its shore;
While the blood of peaceful brothers God's dread vengeance doth implore,
Thou art doomed, O Baltimore!
"There!" says the serious New Haven chap, as he finished reading, stirring something softly with a spoon, "what do you suppose Poe would think, if he were alive now and could read that?"
"I think," says I, striving to appear calm, "that he would be 'Raven' mad about it."
"Oh—ah—yes," says the serious chap, vaguely, "what will you take?"
Doubtless I shall become hardened to the horrors of war in time, my boy; but at present these things unhinge me.
Yours, unforgivingly,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER V.
CONCERNING THE GREAT CROWD AT THE CAPITAL, OWING TO THE VAST INFLUX OF TROOPS, AND TOUCHING UPON FIRE-ZOUAVE PECULIARITIES AND OTHER MATTERS.
Washington, D.C., May 24th, 1861.
I am living luxuriously, at present, on the top of a very respectable fence, and fare sumptuously on three granite biscuit a day, and a glass of water, weakened with brandy. A high private in the Twenty-second Regiment has promised to let me have one of his spare pocket-handkerchiefs for a sheet on the first rainy night, and I never go to bed on my comfortable window-brush without thinking how many poor creatures there are in this world who have to sleep on hair mattresses and feather-beds all their lives. Before the great rush of the Fire Zouaves and the rest of the menagerie commenced, I boarded exclusively on a front stoop on Pennsylvania Avenue, and used to slumber, regardless of expense, in a well-conducted ash-box; but the military monopolize all such accommodation now, and I give way for the sake of my country.
I tell you, my boy, we're having high old times here just now, and if they get any higher, I shan't be able to afford to stay. The city is in "danger" every other hour, and as a veteran in the Fire Zouaves remarked, there seems to be enough danger laying around loose on Arlington Heights to make a very good blood-and-thunder fiction in numerous pages. If the vigilant and well-educated sentinels happen to see an old nigger on the other side of the Potomac, they sing out, "Here they come!" and the whole blessed army is snapping caps in less than a minute. Then all the cheap reporters telegraph to their papers in New York and Philadelphia, that "Jeff. Davis is within two minutes' walk of the Capital, with a few millions of men," and all the free states send six more regiments a piece to crowd us a little more. I sha'n't stand much more crowding, for my fence is full now, and there were six applications yesterday to rent an improved knot-hole. My landlord says that, if more than three chaps set up housekeeping on one post, he'll be obliged to raise the rent.
Those Fire Zouaves are fellows of awful suction, I tell you. Just for greens, I asked one of them, yesterday, what he came here for? "Hah!" says he, shutting one eye, "we came here to strike for your altars and your fires—especially your fires." General Scott says that if he wanted to make these chaps break through the army of a foe, he'd have a fire-bell rung for some district on the other side of the rebels. He says that half a million of the traitors couldn't keep the Fire Zouaves out of that district five minutes. I believe him, my boy!
The weather here is highly favorable to the free development of perspiration and mint-juleps, and I have enjoyed the melancholy satisfaction of losing ten pounds of flesh in three days. One of the lieutenants of the Eighth