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[page 40:]
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THE MAN THAT WAS USED UP.
A TALE OF THE LATE BUGABOO AND KICKAPOO CAMPAIGN.
——
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Pleurez, pleurez,
mes yeux,
et fondez vous en
eaux —
La moitié de ma vie a
mis l'autre au
tombeau.
Corneille.
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——
I CANNOT
just now remember when or where I first made the acquaintance of that
truly
fine-looking fellow, Brevet Brigadier General John A. B.
C.
Smith. Some one did introduce me to the gentleman, I am
sure;
— at some public meeting, I know very well; — held about something of
great
importance, no doubt; — and at some place or other, of this I feel
convinced
— the name of which I have stupidly forgotten. The truth is that
the introduction was attended, upon my part, with a degree of anxious
and
tremulous embarrassment which operated to prevent any definite
impressions
of either time or place. I am constitutionally nervous; — this, with
me,
is a family failing, and I can't help it. In especial, the
slightest
appearance of mystery — of any point I cannot exactly comprehend — puts
me at once into a pitiable state of agitation.
There was something, as it were,
remarkable —
yes, remarkable, although this is but a feeble term to
express my
full
meaning — about the entire individuality of the personage in question.
What this something was, however, I found it impossible to say.
He
was, perhaps, six feet in height, and of a presence singularly
commanding.
There was an air distingué [page 41:] pervading
the whole man, which spoke of high breeding, and hinted at high birth.
His head of hair would have done
honor to a
Brutus;
— nothing could be more richly flowing, or possess a brighter
gloss.
It was of a jetty black; — which was also the color, or more properly
the
no color, of his unimaginable whiskers. You perceive I cannot
speak
of these latter without enthusiasm; it is not too much to say that they
were the handsomest pair of whiskers under the sun. At all
events,
they encircled, and at times partially overshadowed, a mouth utterly
unequalled.
Here were the most entirely even, and the most brilliantly white of all
conceivable teeth. From between them, upon every proper occasion,
issued a voice of surpassing clearness, melody, and strength. In
the matter of eyes, my acquaintance was, also, pre-eminently
endowed.
Either one of such a pair was worth a couple of the ordinary ocular
organs.
They were of a deep hazel, exceedingly large and lustrous: and there
was
perceptible about them, ever and anon, just that amount of interesting
obliquity which gives pregnancy to expression.
The bust of the General was
unquestionably the
finest
bust I ever saw. For your life you could not have found a fault
with
its wonderful proportion. This rare peculiarity set off to great
advantage a pair of shoulders which would have called up a blush of
conscious
inferiority into the countenance of the marble Apollo. I have a
passion
for fine shoulders, and may say that I never beheld them in perfection
before. The arms altogether were admirably modelled. Nor
were
the lower limbs less marvellously superb. These were, indeed, the ne
plus ultra of good legs. Every connoisseur in such matters
admitted
the legs to be good. There was neither too much flesh, nor too
little,
— neither rudeness nor fragility. I could not imagine a more
graceful
curve than that of the os femoris, and there was just that due
gentle
prominence in the rear of the fibula which goes to the
conformation
of a properly proportioned calf. I wish to God my young and
talented
friend Chiponchipino, the sculptor, had but seen the legs of Brevet
Brigadier
General John A. B. C. Smith.
But although men so absolutely
fine-looking are
neither
as plenty as reasons or blackberries, still I could not bring myself to
believe that the remarkable something to which I alluded just
now,
— that the odd air of je ne sais quoi which hung about my new
acquaintance,
— lay altogether, or indeed at all, in the supreme excellence of his
bodily
endowments. Perhaps it might be traced to the manner; —
yet
here again I could not pretend to be positive. There was
a
primness, not [page 42:] to say stiffness, in his
carriage
— a degree of measured, and, if I may so express it, of rectangular
precision,
attending his every movement, which, observed in a more diminutive
figure,
would have had the least little savor in the world of affectation,
pomposity,
or constraint, but which, noticed in a gentleman of his undoubted
dimensions, petit readily placed to the account of reserve, hauteur,
of a commendable sense, in short, of what is due to the dignity of
colossal
proportion.
The kind friend who presented me to
General Smith
whispered in my ear, at the instant, some few words of comment upon the
man. He was a remarkable man — a very remarkable
man
— indeed one of the most remarkable men of the age. He
was
an especial favorite, too, with the ladies — chiefly on account of his
high reputation for courage.
"In that point he is
unrivalled — indeed
he
is a perfect desperado — a downright fire-eater, and no mistake," said
my friend, here dropping his voice excessively low, and thrilling me
with
the mystery of his tone.
"A downright fire-eater, and no
mistake.
Showed that, I should say, to some purpose, in the late
tremendous
swamp-fight away down south, with the Bugaboo and Kickapoo
Indians.
(Here my friend placed his forefinger to the side of his nose, and
opened
his eyes to some extent.) Bless my soul! — blood and thunder, and
all that! — prodigies of valor! — heard of him of course? — you
know he's the man" ——
"Man alive, how do you do?
why, how are
ye? very glad to see ye, indeed!" here interrupted the General
himself,
seizing my companion by the hand as he drew near, and bowing stiffly,
but
profoundly, as I was presented. I then thought, (and I think so
still,)
that I never heard a clearer or a stronger voice, nor beheld a finer
set
of teeth; — but I must say that I was sorry for the
interruption just at that moment, as, owing to the whispers and
insinuations
aforesaid, my interest had been greatly excited in the hero of the
Bugaboo
and Kickapoo campaign.
However, the delightfully luminous
conversation
of
Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith soon
completely
dissipated this chagrin. My friend leaving us immediately, we had
quite a long tête-à-tête, and I was not only
pleased but really — instructed. I never heard a more
fluent
talker, or a man of greater general information. With becoming
modesty,
he forebore, nevertheless, to touch upon the theme I had just then most
at heart — I mean the mysterious circumstances attending the Bugaboo
war
— and, on my own part, what I conceive to be a proper sense of delicacy
forbade me to broach the subject, although, in truth, I was exceedingly
tempted to do [page 43:] so. I perceived,
too,
that the gallant soldier preferred topics of philosophical interest,
and
that he delighted, especially, in commenting upon the rapid march of
mechanical
invention. Indeed, lead him where I would, this was a point to
which
he invariably came back.
"There is nothing at all like it," he
would say;
"we are a wonderful people, and live in a wonderful age.
Parachutes
and rail-roads — man-traps and spring-guns! Our steam-boats are upon
every
sea, and the Nassau balloon packet is about to run regular trips (fare
either way only twenty pounds sterling) between London and
Timbuctoo.
And who shall calculate the immense influence upon social life — upon
arts
— upon commerce — upon literature — which will be the immediate result
of the application of the great principles of electro-magnetics? Nor is
this all, let me assure you! There is really no end to the march of
invention.
The most wonderful — the most ingenious — and let me add, Mr. —
Mr.
— Thompson, I believe, is your name — let me add, I say, the most useful
— the most truly useful mechanical contrivances, are daily
springing
up like mushrooms, if I may so express myself, or, more figuratively,
like
— ah — grasshoppers — like grasshoppers, Mr. Thompson — about us
and — ah — ah — around us!"
Thompson, to be sure, is not my name;
but it is
needless
to say that I left General Smith with a heightened interest in the man,
with an exalted opinion of his conversational powers, and a deep sense
of the valuable privileges we enjoy in living in this age of mechanical
invention. My curiosity, however, had not been altogether
satisfied,
and I resolved to prosecute immediate inquiry among my acquaintances
touching
the Brevet Brigadier General himself, and particularly respecting the
tremendous
events in which he played so conspicuous a part — quorum pars magna
fuit — during the Bugaboo and Kickapoo campaign.
The first opportunity which presented
itself, and
which (horresco referens) I did not in the least scruple to
seize,
occurred at the church of the Reverend Doctor Drummummupp, where I
found
myself established, one Sunday, just at sermon time, not only in the
pew,
but by the side, of that worthy and communicative little friend of
mine,
Miss Tabitha T. Thus seated, I congratulated myself, and with
much
reason, upon the very flattering state of affairs. If any person
knew anything about Brevet Brigadier General John A. B.
C.
Smith, that person, it was clear to me, was Miss Tabitha T. We
telegraphed
a few signals, and then commenced, soto voce, a brisk tête-à-tête.
"Smith!" said she, in reply to my
very earnest
inquiry; [page 44:] "Smith! — why, not General
John A.
B. C.? Bless me, I thought you knew all about him!
This is a wonderfully inventive age! Horrid affair that! — a bloody set
of wretches, those Kickapoos! — fought like a hero — prodigies of valor
— immortal renown. Smith! — Brevet Brigadier General John
A.
B. C.! why, you know he's the man" ——
"Man," here broke in Doctor
Drummummupp, at the
top
of his voice, and with a thump that came near knocking down the pulpit
about our ears; "man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to
live;
he cometh up and is cut down like a flower!" I started to the extremity
of the pew, and perceived by the animated looks of the divine, that the
wrath which had proved so nearly fatal to the pulpit had been excited
by
the whispers of the lady and myself. There was no help for it; so
I submitted with a good grace, and listened, in all the martyrdom of
dignified
silence, to the balance of that very capital discourse.
Next evening found me a somewhat late
visiter at
the Rantipole theatre, where I felt sure of satisfying my curiosity at
once, by merely stepping into the box of those exquisite specimens of
affability
and omniscience, the Misses Arabella and Miranda Cognoscenti.
That
fine tragedian, Climax, however, was doing Iago to a very crowded
house,
and I experienced some little difficulty in making my wishes
understood;
especially, as our box was next the slips and completely overlooked the
stage.
"Smith?" said Miss Arabella, as she
at length
comprehended
the purport of my query; "Smith? — why, not General John A.
B.
C.?"
"Smith?" inquired Miranda,
musingly. "God
bless
me, did you ever behold a finer figure?"
"Never, madam; but do tell
me" ——
"Or so inimitable grace?"
"Never, upon my word! — But pray
inform me" ——
"Or so just an appreciation of stage
effect?"
"Madam!"
"Or a more delicate sense of the true
beauties of
Shakspeare? Be so good as to look at that leg!"
"The devil!" and I turned again to
her sister.
"Smith?" said she, "why, not General
John A. B.
C.?
Horrid affair that, was'nt [[wasn't it]]? — great wretches, those
Bugaboos
— savage and so on — but we live in a wonderfully inventive age! —
Smith!
— O yes! great man! — perfect desperado — immortal renown — prodigies
of
valor! Never heard! (This was given in a scream.)
Bless
my soul! why, he's the man" —— [page 45:]
"—— mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owd'st yesterday!"
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here roared our Climax just in my ear, and shaking his fist in my face
all the time, in a way that I couldn't stand, and I wouldn't.
I left the Misses Cognoscenti immediately, went behind the scenes
forthwith,
and gave the beggarly scoundrel such a thrashing as I trust he will
remember
to the day of his death.
At the soirée of the
lovely widow,
Mrs. Kathleen O'Trump, I was confident that I should meet with no
similar
disappointment. Accordingly, I was no sooner seated at the card
table,
with my pretty hostess for a partner, than I propounded those questions
the solution of which had become a matter so essential to my peace.
"Smith?" said my partner, "why, not
General John
A. B. C.? Horrid affair that, wasn't it? — diamonds, did you say? —
terrible
wretches, those Kickapoos! — we are playing whist, if you
please,
Mr. Tattle — however, this is the age of invention, most
certainly
— the age, one may say — the age par excellence
—
speak French? — oh, quite a hero — perfect desperado! — no hearts,
Mr. Tattle! I don't believe it — immortal renown and all that —
prodigies
of valor! Never heard!! — why, bless me, he's the man" ——
"Mann? — Captain Mann?" here
screamed
some
little feminine interloper from the farthest corner of the room.
"Are you talking about Captain Mann and the duel? — oh, I must
hear
— do tell — go on, Mrs. O'Trump! — do now go on!" And go on Mrs.
O'Trump
did — all about a certain Captain Mann who was either shot or hung, or
should have been both shot and hung. Yes! Mrs. O'Trump, she went
on, and I — I went off. There was no chance of hearing any thing
farther that evening in regard to Brevet Brigadier General John A. B.
C.
Smith.
Still, I consoled myself with the
reflection that
the tide of ill luck would not run against me for ever, and so
determined
to make a bold push for information at the rout of that
bewitching
little angel, the graceful Mrs. Pirouette.
"Smith?" said Mrs. P., as we
twirled about
together in a pas de zephyr, "Smith? — why not General John A.
B.
C.? Dreadful business that of the Bugaboos, wasn't it? — terrible
creatures,
those Indians! — do turn out your toes, I really am ashamed of
you
— man of great courage, poor fellow — but this is a wonderful age for
invention
— O dear me, I'm out of breath — quite a desperado — prodigies of valor
— never heard!! — [page 46:] can't believe
it
— I shall have to sit down and enlighten you — Smith! why he's the man"
——
"Man-Fred, I tell you!" here
bawled out
Miss
Bas-Bleu, as I led Mrs. Pirouette to a seat. "Did ever any body
hear
the like? It's Man-Fred, I say, and not at all by any means Man-Friday."
Here Miss Bas-Bleu beckoned to me in a very peremptory manner; and I
was
obliged, will I nill I, to leave Mrs. P. for the purpose of
deciding
a dispute touching the title of a certain poetical drama of Lord
Byron's.
Although I pronounced, with great promptness, that the true title was
Man-Friday,
and not by any means Man-Fred, yet when I returned to seek Mrs.
Pirouette she was not to be discovered, and I made my retreat from the
house in a very bitter spirit of animosity against the whole race of
the
Bas-Bleus.
Matters had now assumed a really
serious aspect,
and I resolved to call at once upon my particular friend, Mr. Theodore
Sinivate; — for I knew that here at least I should get something like
definite
information.
"Smith?" said he, in his well known
peculiar way
of drawling out his syllables; "Smith? — why, not General John A. B.
C.?
Savage affair that with the Kickapo-o-o-o-os, was'nt [[wasn't]] it?
Say!
don't you think so? — perfect despera-a-ado — great pity, 'pon my
honor!
— wonderfully inventive age! — pro-o-odigies of valor! By the by, did
you
ever hear about Captain Maan?"
"Captain Mann be d——d!" said I;
"please to go on
with your story."
"Hem! — oh well! — quite la
même
cho-o-ose,
as we say in France. Smith, eh? Brigadier General John A—B—C.? I
say" — (here Mr. S. thought proper to put his finger to the
side of his nose) — "I say, you don't mean to insinuate now, really,
and
truly, and conscientiously, that you don't know all about that affair
of
Smith's, as well as I do, eh? Smith? John A—B—C.? Why, bless me, he's
the
ma-a-an" ——
"Mr. Sinivate," said I,
imploringly, "is
he the man in the mask?"
"No-o-o!" said he, looking wise, "nor
the man in
the mo-o-o-on."
This reply I considered a pointed and
positive
insult,
and I left the house at once in high dudgeon, with a firm resolve to
call
my friend, Mr. Sinivate, to a speedy account for his ungentlemanly
conduct
and ill breeding.
In the meantime, however, I had no
notion of
being
thwarted touching the information I desired. There was one
resource
left me yet. I would go to the fountain head. I would call
forthwith upon the General himself, and demand, in explicit terms, a
solution
of this abominable piece of mystery. Here [page 47:]
at least there should be no chance for equivocation. I would be
plain,
positive, peremptory — as short as pie-crust — as concise as Tacitus or
Montesquieu.
It was early when I called, and the
General was
dressing;
but I pleaded urgent business, and was shown at once into his bed-room
by an old negro valet, who remained in attendance during my
visit.
As I entered the chamber, I looked about, of course, for the occupant,
but did not immediately perceive him. There was a large and
exceedingly
odd-looking bundle of something which lay close by my feet, on the
floor,
and, as I was not in the best humor in the world, I gave it a kick out
of the way.
"Hem! ahem! rather civil that, I
should say!"
said
the bundle, in one of the smallest, and altogether the funniest little
voices, between a squeak and a whistle, that I ever heard in all the
days
of my existence.
"Ahem! rather civil that, I should
observe."
I fairly shouted with terror, and
made off at a
tangent,
into the farthest extremity of the room.
"God bless me, my dear fellow," here
again
whistled
the bundle, "what — what — what — why, what is the matter? I
really
believe you don't know me at all."
What could I say to all this
— what could
I? I staggered into an arm-chair, and, with staring eyes and open
mouth,
awaited the solution of the wonder.
"Strange you shouldn't know me
though, isn't it?"
presently re-squeaked the bundle, which I now perceived was performing,
upon the floor, some inexplicable evolution, very analogous to the
drawing
on of a stocking. There was only a single leg, however, apparent.
"Strange you shouldn't know me,
though, isn't it?
Pompey, bring me that leg!" Here Pompey handed the bundle a very
capital
cork leg, all ready dressed, which it screwed on in a trice, and then
it
stood upright before my eyes. Devil the word could I say.
"And a bloody action it was,"
continued
the
thing, as if in a soliloquy; "but then one mustn't fight with the
Bugaboos
and Kickapoos, and think of coming off with a mere scratch.
Pompey,
I'll thank you now for that arm. Thomas (turning to me) is
decidedly
the best hand at a cork leg; he lives in Race Street, No. 79 — stop,
I'll
give you his card; but if you should ever want an arm, my dear fellow,
you must really let me recommend you to Bishop." Here Pompey screwed on
an arm.
"We had rather hot work of it, that
you may say.
Now, you dog, slip on my shoulders and bosom. Pettitt makes the best
shoulders,
but for a bosom you will have to go to Ducrow." [page 48:]
"Bosom!" said I.
"Pompey, will you never be
ready with
that
wig? Scalping is a rough process after all; but then you can procure
such
a capital scratch at De L'Orme's."
"Scratch!"
"Now, you nigger, my teeth! For a good
set
of these you had better go to Parmly's at once; high prices, but
excellent
work. I swallowed some very capital articles, though, when the
big
Bugaboo rammed me down with the butt end of his rifle."
"Butt end! ram down!! my eye!!!"
"O yes, by the by, my eye — here,
Pompey, you
scamp,
screw it in! Those Kickapoos are not so very slow at a gouge; but he's
a belied man, that Dr. Williams, after all; you can't imagine how
well I see with the eyes of his make."
I now began very clearly to perceive
that the
object
before me was nothing more nor less than my new acquaintance, Brevet
Brigadier
General John A. B. C. Smith. The manipulations of Pompey
had
made, I must confess, a very striking difference in the appearance of
the
personal man. The voice, however, still puzzled me no little; but even
this apparent mystery was speedily cleared up.
"Pompey, you black rascal," squeaked
the General,
"I really do believe you would let me go out without my palate."
Hereupon the negro, grumbling out an
apology,
went
up to his master, opened his mouth with the knowing air of a
horse-jockey,
and adjusted therein a somewhat singular looking machine, in a very
dexterous
manner that I could not altogether comprehend. The alteration,
however,
in the entire expression of the countenance of the General was
instantaneous
and surprising. When he again spoke, his voice had resumed the
whole
of that rich melody and strength which I had noticed upon our original
introduction.
"D—n the vagabonds!" said he, in so
clear a tone
that I positively started at the change, "D—n the vagabonds! they not
only
knocked in the roof of my mouth, but took the trouble to cut off at
least
seven-eighths of my tongue. There isn't Bonfanti's equal,
however,
in America, for really good articles of this description. I can
recommend
you to him with confidence, (here the General bowed,) and assure you
that
I have the greatest pleasure in so doing."
I acknowledged his kindness in my
best manner,
and
now took leave of him at once, with a perfect understanding of the true
state of affairs — with a full comprehension of the mystery which had
troubled
me so long. It was evident. It was a clear case.
Brevet
Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith was the man —— was the man
that
was used up! |
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