A Circuitous Route
We know several folks who have a way of beating round and boxing the compass, from A to Z, and back again, that fairly knocks us into smithereens. One of these characters came to us the other day, and in a most mysterious manner, with the utmost earnestness, solemnity, and hocus pocus, says he —
"Cap'n, (winking,) I wanted to see you – (two winks;) the fact of the business is, (wink, nod, and double wink,) I've wanted to see you, badly; you see, I-a – well, what I-a (two winks) – was about to remark (two nods and a short cough), – that is to say, it don't make much matter, if-a – (wink, wink, wink;) you see it was in this way, I-a – wanted to – a, to tell you that (dreadful lot of winks) I've been – not, to be sure, that it's an uncommon-a thing, (nod, cough, and forty winks,) but no doubt if I-a – the fact is – "
"Well, what in thunder and rosin is the fact, old boy?" says we.
"The fact is, cap'n, I'd a told you at once, but-a – I don't know why I – shouldn't tho', (wink on wink,) have you got two shillings you won't want to use to-day?"
We hadn't!
Major Blink's First Season at Saratoga
"Ha, ha!" said Uncle Joe Blinks, as the subject of summer travel, a jaunt somewhere, was being discussed among the regular boarders in Mrs. Bamberry's spacious old-fashioned parlors; "Ha! ha! ha! ladies, did Mrs. Bamberry ever tell you of my tour to Saratogy Springs? – last summer was two years."
"No," said several of us neuter genders who had repeatedly heard all about it, but were desirous that those who had not been thus gratified, especially the ladies, and particularly a Miss Scarlatina, who was dieting for a tour to the famed Springs – "tell us all about it, Major."
"Then," said the Major, with his favorite exclamation, "then, by the banks of Brandywine, if I don't tell you. You see, last summer was two years, I came to the conclusion, that I'd stop off business, altogether, brush up a little, and go forth a mite more in the world, and I went. A friend of mine, a married man, was going up north to Saratogy, with his wife and sister – a plaguy nice young woman, the sister was, too; well, I don't know how it was, exactly, but somehow or other, it came into my head, especially as my friend Padlock had asked me if I wouldn't like to go up to Saratogy – that I'd go, and I went. It was odd enough, to be sure," said Uncle Joe, taking a pinch of rappee from his tortoise-shell box – "very odd, in fact, but somehow or other, Mrs. Padlock, being in poor health, and her sister, a rather volatile and inexperienced young woman, you may say – "
"So that you had to beau her along the way, Uncle Joe?" says several of the company.
"Well, yes; it was very odd, I don't know how it was, but somehow or other, I-a – I-a – "
"Out with it, Uncle Joe – own up; you cottoned to the young lady, gallant as possible, eh?" says the gents.
"Ha! ha! it's a very delicate thing, very delicate, I assure you, gentlemen, for an old bachelor to be on the slightest terms of intimacy with a young – "
"And beautiful!" echoed the company.
"Unexperienced," continued the Major.
"And unprotected," says the chorus.
"Volatile," added the Major.
"And marriageable young lady, like Miss – "
"Miss Catchem," said the Major.
"Catchem!" cried the gents.
"Catchem, that was her name; she was the daughter of a very respectable widow," continued the Major.
"A widow's daughter, eh?" said they all, now much interested in Uncle Joe's journey to Saratoga, and – but we won't anticipate.
"Of a very respectable widow, whose husband, I believe, was a – but no matter, they were of good family, and a – "
"Yes, yes, Uncle Joe," said the ladies, "no doubt of that; go on with your story; you paid attention to Miss Catchem; you grew familiar – you became mutually pleased with each other, and you finally – well, tell us how it all came out, Uncle Joe, do!" they cried.
"Bless me, ladies! You've quite got ahead of my story – altogether! Miss Catchem and I never spoke a word to each other in our lives," said the Major.
"Why, Uncle Joe!" cried the whole party.
"By banks of Brandywine, it's a fact."
"Well, we never!" cried all the ladies.
"Well, ladies, I don't suppose you ever did," Uncle Joe responds. "The fact is, Mrs. Padlock died suddenly the week Padlock spoke to me of going to Saratogy, and he married her sister, Miss Catchem, in course of a few weeks after, himself! I don't know how it was, but somehow or other, I thought it was all for the best; things might have turned out that I should have got tangled up with that girl, and a – "
"Been a married man, now, instead of a bachelor, Uncle Joe!" said the young ladies.
"It's odd; I don't know how it was, ladies; it might have been so, but it turned out just as I have stated."
"Well, well, Major," said an elderly person of the group; "go on; how about Saratoga?"
"I will," says Uncle Joe, again resorting to his rappee, "I will. You see Padlock didn't go, it was very odd; but somehow or other, I made up my mind to go, and I went. I calculated to be gone three or four weeks, and I concluded for once, at least, to loosen the strings of my purse, if I never did again; so I laid out to expend three dollars or so, each day, say eighty dollars for the trip; a good round sum, I assure you, to fritter away; but, by banks of Brandywine, I was determined to do it, and I did. It was very odd, but the first person I met at New York was an old friend, a schoolmate of mine. I was glad to see him, and sorry enough to learn that he had failed in business – had a large family – poor – in distress. It was very odd, but somehow or other, we dined at the hotel together – had a bottle of Madeira, and I a – well, I loaned – yes, by banks of Brandywine, I gave the poor fellow a twenty dollar bill, shook hands and parted; yes, poor Billy Merrifellow, we never met again; he – he died soon after, in distress, his family broke up – scattered; it was very odd; poor fellow, he's gone;" and Uncle Joe again had recourse to his rappee, while a large tear hung in the corner of his full blue eye. Closing his box, and wiping his face with his pongee, the Major continued:
"Next morning I called for my bill. I was astonished to find that a couple of bottles of good wine, two extra meals, and something over one day's board, figured up the round sum of ten dollars. I was three days out, so far, and my pocket-book was lessened of half the funds intended for a month's expenses! By banks of Brandywine, thinks Major, my boy, this won't do; you must economize, or you shall be short of your reckonings before you are a week out of port. That morning at the steam-boat wharf I meets a young man very genteelly dressed; he looked in deep distress about something. It was very odd, I don't know how it was, but somehow or other, he came up to me and asked if I was going up the river, and I very civilly told him I was; then, he up and tells me he was a stranger in the city, had lost all his money by gambling, was in great distress – had nothing but a valuable watch – a present from his deceased father, a Virginia planter, and a great deal more. He begged me to buy the watch, when I refused at first, but finally he so importuned me, and offered the watch at a rate so apparently below its real value that I up and gave him forty dollars for it, thinking I might in part, indemnify my previous extravagance by this little bit of a trade. It was very odd; I don't know how it was, but somehow or other, upon my arrival at Saratogy, I found that watch wasn't worth the powder that would blow it up! I was imposed upon, cheated by a scoundrel! Here I was, four days from home, and my whole month's outfit nigh about gone. In the stage that took us from the boat to the Springs, rode a very respectable youngish-looking woman, with a very cross child in her arms; we had not rode far before I found the other passengers, all gentlemen, apparently much annoyed by the child; for my part I sympathized with the poor woman, got into a conversation with her – learned she was on her way to Saratogy to see her husband, who was engaged there as a builder. Upon arriving at Saratogy, the young woman requested me to hold her child – it was fast asleep – until she stepped over to a new building to inquire about her husband. I did so; she went away, and I never saw her from that to this!"
A loud and prolonged laugh from his auditors followed this tableau in Uncle Joe's story. A little more rappee, and the Major proceeded:
"Well, it was very odd, I don't know how it was, but somehow or other I was left with the child, and a plaguy time had I of it; the town authorities refused to take charge of it, nobody else would; so by Brandywine, there I was; the people seemed to be suspicious of me – sniggered and went on as though I knew more about the woman and her child than I let on. In short, I had to father the child, and provide for it, and I did," said the Major, quite patriotically.
"Well, never mind, Uncle Joe," said Mrs. Bamberry; "that boy may pay you yet – pay you for all your trouble; he's growing nicely, and will make a fine man."
"So you really had to keep the child!" cried several.
"O yes," says the Major; "I was in for it; I got a nurse and had the youngster taken care of. The hotels were crowded, very uncomfortable, rooms wretched, small, damp, and dirty. The landlords were quite independent, and the servants the most impudent set of extorting varlets I ever encountered! To keep from starving, I did as others – bribed a waiter to keep my plate supplied. At night they had what they called 'hops!' in other words, dances, shaking the whole house, and raising such a noise and hullabaloo, with cracked horns, squeaky fiddles – bawling and yelling, that no sailor boarding house could be half so disturbant of the peace. By banks of Brandywine, I got enough of such folderols; at the end of the week I asked for my bill, augmented by some few sundries – it made my hair stand up. Now what do you suppose my bill was, for one week, board, lodging, servants' bribes and sundries? I'll tell you," said the Major, "for you never could guess it – it was forty-one dollars, fifty cents. I took my protege, bag and baggage, and started for home. I was absent on this memorable tour to Saratogy just two weeks, and by banks of Brandywine, if the expense of that tour – not including the time wasted, vexation, bother, mortification of feelings, fuss, and rumpus – was but a fraction less than three hundred dollars! Four times the cost of my anticipated trip, lessened half the time, with fifty per cent. more humbug about it than I ever dreamed of!"
Miss Scarlatina agreed with the rest of the company, that it cost Uncle Joe Blinks more to go to Saratogy than it came to, and they all concluded – not to go there themselves, just then – any how!
Old Jack Ringbolt
Had been spinning old Mrs. Tartaremetic any quantity of salty yarns; she was quite surprised at Mr. Ringbolt's ups and downs, trials, travels and tribulations. Honest Jack (!) had assured the old dame that he had sailed over many and many cities, all under water, and whose roofs and chimneys, with the sign-boards on the stores, were still quite visible. He had seen Lot's wife, or the pillar of salt she finally was frozen into!
"And did you see that – Lot's wife?" asked the old lady.
"Yes, marm; but 'tain't there now – the cattle got afoul of the pillar of salt one day, and licked it all up!"
"Good gracious! Mr. Ringbolt!"
"Fact, marm; I see'd 'em at it, and tried to skeer 'em away."
"Well, Mr. Ringbolt, you've seen so much, and been around so, I'd think you would want to settle down, and take a wife!"
Who Killed Capt. Walker?
Few incidents of the campaign in Mexico seem so mixed up and indefinite as that relative to the taking of Huamantla, and the death of that noble and chivalric officer, Capt. Walker. In glancing over the papers of Major Mammond, of Georgia, which he designates the "Secondary Combats of the Mexican War," we observe that he has given an account of the engagement at Huamantla, and the fall of Walker. We believe the Major's account, compiled as it is from "the documents," to be in the main correct, but lacking incidental pith, and slightly erroneous in the grand denouement, in which our gallant friend – whose manly countenance even now stares us in the face, as if in life he "yet lived" – yielded up the balance of power on earth.
We have taken some pains, and a great deal of interest surely, in coming at the facts; and no time seems so proper as the present – several of the chivalric gentlemen of that day and occasion, being now around us – to give the story its veritable exhibition of true interest.
Capt. S. H. Walker was a Marylander, a young man of the truest possible heroism and gallantry. He entered upon the campaign with all the ardor and enterprise of a soldier devoted to the best interests of his country. He commanded a company of mounted men, whose bravery was only equalled by his own, and whose discipline and hardiness has been unsurpassed, if equalled, by any troops of the world. We shall skip over the thousand and one incidents of the line of action in which Walker, Lewis, and their brave companions in arms did gallant service, to come at the sanguinary and truly thrilling denouement.
Gen. Lane, after the landing and organization of his troops at Vera Cruz, with some 2500 men, started for Puebla, where it was understood that Col. Childs required reinforcement. Lane left Jalapa on the 1st of October, and hurried forward with Lally's command. At Perote, Lane learned that Santa Anna would throw himself upon his muscle, and give the advancing columns jessy at the pass of Pinal, and there was every prospect of a very tight time. Col. Wynkoop was in command at Perote; the men were anxious to be "in" at the fight in prospective, and Wynkoop obtained permission to join the General with four companies of the Pennsylvania Regiment; a small battery of the 3d Artillery, under command of Capt. Taylor, with Capts. Walker, of the Texan Rangers, and Lewis, of the Louisiana Cavalry. The column was now swelled to some 2800. They moved rapidly forward, and upon reaching Tamaris, Lane heard that the old fox was off – Santa Anna had gone to Huamantla. Lane determined to hunt him up with haste. The main force was left at Tamaris. Troops were forwarded – advanced by Walker's Rangers and Lewis's Cavalry – who approached to within sight, or nearly so, of Huamantla. The orders to Walker were to advance to the town, and if the Mexicans were in force, to wait for the Infantry to come up. Walker's command rated about 200 men. Upon reaching the outskirts of Huamantla, the Mexican Cavalry were seen dashing forward into the town, and the brave Walker ordered a pursuit.
Santa Anna was evidently in the town. Capt. Walker, says his gallant comrade Lewis, made up his mind to be the captor of the wily old chief. The fair prospect of accomplishing the deed so excited Walker, that danger and death were alike secondary considerations, and so the command charged into the town. Some 500 lancers met the charge, but with terrific impetuosity the Rangers and Cavalry dashed in among them, cutting them down right and left, and soon sent them flying in all directions! It was at this moment, says Capt. Lewis, that one of the most heroic acts of bravery was performed, unsurpassed, perhaps, by any act of personal daring during the whole war! A tremendous negro, a fine, manly fellow, named Dave, belonging to Capt. Walker, with whom he was brought up – boys together – being mounted, and armed with a heavy sabre, dashed forward down a narrow street, (up which, a detached body of lancers were striving to escape,) and throwing himself between three poised lances and the person of Dr. Lamar, one of the surgeons, who would have been most inevitably torn to atoms, Dave raised himself in his saddle, and with a yell, and one fell swoop, the heroic fellow "chopped down" a lancer, clean and clear to his saddle! Two lancers pierced Dave's body, and he fell from his horse, dead!
Charging up to the Plaza – the Mexicans flying – Capt. Walker dismounted, with some thirty of his men, and advanced up a flight of steps to force an entrance into a church or convent, where he supposed Santa Anna was hid away. The flying lancers were pursued by the Rangers, who, very injudiciously, of course, scattered themselves over the town.
Capt. Lewis, in the mean time, had found a large yard attached to a temporary garrison, in which were some sixty horses, equipped ready for immediate use, and which the Mexicans had, in their hurry to escape, left behind them! The irregular firing of the Rangers, in pursuit of the Mexicans, being deemed useless and unnecessary, Capt. Lewis left several of his men, among whom was "Country McCluskey," the noted pugilist, a volunteer in Capt. Lewis's company, to guard the horses, while he rode forward to the convent.
"Capt. Walker," said Lewis, "I deem it, sir, not only useless, but bad policy, to allow that firing by the men, around the town."
Capt. Walker immediately ordered the firing to cease, and being apprized of Capt. Lewis's discovery of the horses, &c., ordered him to bring up his command. Capt. Lewis wheeled his horse; some one fired close by, and Capt. Walker cried out —
"Who was that? I'll shoot down the next man who fires against my orders!"
At that moment three guns were fired from the convent – and simultaneously a cannon was fired down the street, from a party of Mexicans in the distance. Capt. Lewis faced about just in time to see Capt. Walker drop down upon the steps of the convent, as he emphatically expresses it, —
"Like a lump of lead, sir!"
The piece up the street was fired again. Capt. Lewis ordered the fallen, gallant Walker, to be placed upon the steps close to the wall. A shot from the piece alluded to striking off the stone and mortar, he ordered the doors to be forced, and Capt. Walker to be taken in, which was done. The bugle sounded, and in an instant a horde of lancers poured into the town, rushing down upon the Americans from every avenue! Capt. Lewis had wheeled about to collect his men, when he found McCluskey and others leading out "the pick" of the captured horses.
"Drop – drop the horses, you fool, and mount! Mount, sir, mount!"
They mounted fast enough; Lewis formed, and met the enemy in gallant style; and though there were ten, aye, twenty to one, possibly, he drove them back! To quote our friend, Major Hammond's words, "Lewis, of the Louisiana Cavalry, assumed command, struggled ably to preserve the guns (captured), and held his position fairly, until assistance arrived."
One hundred and fifty of the enemy fell, while of the Rangers and Cavalry some twenty-five were killed and wounded. They were engaged nearly an hour, and the bravery displayed by Walker, Lewis, and their men, was worthy of general admiration, and all honor.
Poor Walker! a ball struck him in the left shoulder, passed over his heart, and came out in his right vest pocket!
Thus fell the gallant leader of one of the most formidable war parties, of its numbers, known to history. Walker was a humane, impulsive man; a warm friend, a brave, gallant soldier. His dying words were directed to Capt. Lewis – to keep the town, and drive back the enemy; and that the chivalrous Captain did so, was well proven. Capt. Walker, and his heroic "boy" Dave, who fell unknown to his master, were buried together in the earth they so lately stood upon, in all the glory and heroism of men that were men!
Practical Philosophy
Skinflint and old Jack Ringbolt had a dispute on Long Wharf, a few days since, upon a religious pint. Jack argued the matter upon a specie basis, and Skinflint took to "moral suasion." Jack went in for equal division of labor and money – all over the world.
"Suppose, now, John," says Skinflint, "we rich men should share equal with the poor – their imprudence would soon throw all the wealth into our hands again!"
"Wall," says Jack, "s'pose it did! You'd only have to —share all around again!"