_ CHAPTER XXVI. WHICH RELATES HOW THE MAJOR WAS RESTORED TO PERFECT HEALTH; AND ALSO AN AUTHENTIC DESCRIPTION OF WHAT TOOK PLACE ON HIS ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK
IF, reader, you be an honest man, and in any way acquainted with the pranks of politicians in these our times, you will not pour forth a lamentation over what I have written; for I take it you will see that I have broken the filthy clods only, to get at the real truth. But if you be a politician, thief, or housebreaker-in fine, if you belong to any of these twin professions, the members of which find it convenient to extinguish the light of their own history, and take no delight in truths which concern themselves, then I may expect to be visited with your eternal enmity. Sweeten, then, your breath; and if you would send me to that place I have firmly resolved never to go to, pray call to your aid such papers as the New York Tribune and Evangelist, for they are both clever at sending all who differ from them to the devil, without even the aid of clergy. And as those sent to the devil by this medium have only the Editor of the Herald for mourner, just imagine that gentleman in tears, and chide me no more, for I must see to the major.
The critical condition in which I left the major renders it imperative that I should return to him without further delay. And I must here say, then, in restoring him to consciousness, that much ice water was used, a portion of his hair and beard was shaved off, and sundry aromatic liquids applied to counteract an odor that was by no means delightful to the senses. And when he had recovered sufficiently to sit up, his eyes were fixed confusedly upon those about him; then his hands wandered to his haunches, and he heaved a deep sigh. "Pray tell me, gentlemen, (for I seem to have just come out of a trance,) what has befallen me? Pray tell me, gentlemen, that I may offer you such an apology as becomes my position, for I am in a condition no man need envy. And to lose a hard earned reputation so easily is no trifling thing." The commodore was struggling to suppress his laughter, which had been excited by the forlornness of the figure before him. He however begged the major to be composed. As to losing his reputation by so trifling an accident, he enjoined him not to think of it, since history afforded numerous instances of great heroes who had met with similar ones. In truth, it was just such an accident, taking place on the commencement of a great battle, that saved General Cushing from the bullets of the enemy, and his life to the country! And this timely accident I record here for the benefit of that admiring generation which is yet to come, and which might be deceived by that worthy historian, the author of "The Mexican War," who recorded with so much faithfulness all his gallant deeds, and hanged himself when he had finished. Hearing this, he at once took heart, and declaring that it was all owing to a derangement of the stomach, said, that although it was the first time in his life that he had ever met with such an accident, he had not the slightest doubt of its influence for good, since a man's virtues lay in his power to bear up under such trials.
They were now nearing the city, and the "Two Marys" having been left far astern, the squadron put about, preparatory to setting the major on board his own ship, which was done without the firing of a gun, and with as much caution as if they had been handling eggs of a venerable age. It must however be said for the credit of the military profession, that the major never relaxed one iota of his gallantry, and left the yacht with many kind remembrances for the ladies, especially Miss Flora, whose beauty he declared he had never seen excelled, though he had read all Mrs. Southworth's novels by candle light. It ought also to be mentioned that one of the officers, seeing his necessities, and being a man of a philanthropic turn, gave him a pair of breeches, with a stripe down the side. And with these the major consoled himself that he had at least parted friends with the Yacht Club, and that, after all, there was no great loss without some small gain.
The squadron executed a maneuver, fired two guns, and parted company with the "Two Marys," as, with seven days' news from Barnstable, she neared Peck Slip, and made fast to a wharf, on which was assembled a very dejected looking throng of people. Those fortunate enough to have hats took them off, and began cheering in the wildest manner, whilst the more respectable, whose raiment was of an exceedingly damp description, and had been used at night for beds, took to using their hands upon the heads of their neighbors. Here and there a philosophical policeman was seen, with his hands in his pockets. "Heavens!" said I to myself, "instead of being on the road to fame, we have fallen among vagabonds, who will plunder us!" But I was relieved of my fears by being informed that they were all honest voters, who, though they had not a shirt to their backs, took righteous good care of the city's affairs.
When it became known that the major and myself were really on board, there was a great firing of guns, and such other demonstrations of welcome as made the major glad at heart; for he had changed his nether garments, and was now sure the news of what had so recently befallen him had not reached New York. There now came on board four flabby men, dreamy of countenance, and whose dilapidated garments bespoke them persons of menial occupations. But as neither St. Paul, nor Alexander the Great, nor Henry Ward Beecher, (who, I take it, is as great a man as either of them, and will leave more portraits of himself than both,) never dressed according to their "circumstances," so these four flabby men, the major thought, must not be judged by the condition of their raiment, for it was nothing new to see great men shabbily dressed.
The shortest of the four flabby men, an oily sort of shabby gentleman, who was blind of an eye, and had very disordered red hair, and a bruise on the end of a very red nose, which looked like a birch knot growing upon a redder face, now came jauntily forward, and having doffed a much damaged hat, that sat on the side of his head with a challenging air, and approaching the major, who had arranged his uniform to the best advantage, spoke as follows: "Long life t'yer 'onor, for me name's Dinnis Finnigan, born on the banks of Lough Neagh, near Kerry; but for all that, as I says to myself, Dinnis yer jist as good an American as iver drew first breath on the soil. And now, seein' it's yersel, Major Potter"--
"Commonly called Major Roger Potter," interrupted the major, with a bow. "And since I see you seek me, I may say I'm the person. I make no doubt you have heard of me. I need not say how glad I am to see you, for that will be told you by my private secretary." Here the major turned round and cast a glance at me.
"The same man that wouldn't hear of the likes o' ye, major, would'nt be much of a politician. Ye'r as wilcom as the flowers of May, jist," resumed Mr. Dinnis Finnigan, who now disclosed the singular fact that, (Mr. Finnigan was a reformed member of the "Dead Rabbit Club,") he now formed one of the Board of Common Council, where no man could vote better on a question of money. Mr. Finnigan was evidently not dead to the importance of his office, for he promised no end of things in honor of the major, to the carrying out of which he pledged the city, and would with equal sincerity (for his mind was in a condition to make cities appear very small) have pledged the whole Union.
The major had for some moments been fixing his eyes upon Mr. Finnigan with a scrutinizing stare. Suddenly his face became flushed, his eye quickened its glare, and he stammered out, "I know what belongs to good manners, and though you may be a councilman, Mr. Finnigan, my eyes, and they are good ones, tell me I have seen you before."
"Faith, an' that same's not unlikely," interposed the moist councilman.
"Aye, and when you went by the name of Greeley Hanniford, and followed an occupation that cost me all my money."
Here Mr. Finnigan quickly interrupted by saying that as they had both attained to the position of gentlemen, it were best to adopt Bishop Hughes' motto, and let bye gones be bye gones. In truth the major recognized in Councilman Finnigan, the honest Quaker, Greeley Hanniford, who, with General Fopp, of "Pleasant-side Row," had managed to relieve him of all his money during his first adventure in New York.
"But although he neither acted justly nor honorably towards me, our conditions have changed, and it does not become my high position to rake this thing up now, so let's hope he is come an honest man, and a good politician!" thought the major, extending his hand to the moist councilman, who was not a little troubled at the old reminiscence.
"And my motto is, major, let them what's dead, stay dead! But since its not mysel is to spake the addriss, but Dan Dooley, who, by the Virgin, is an alderman, a gintleman, and the friend of Father Fogarty-"
Seeing there was an old score to be wiped out between Mr. Councilman Finnigan and the major, Mr. Alderman Dan Dooley, who was the tallest of the four flabby men, and a whiskey visaged gentleman of ponderous parts, now came fussily forward, and after exchanging many bows and compliments with the major, saying how extremely glad he was to welcome him to the city, introduced him to his son in law, Councilman Dennis Blennerhasset, a frisky little man, with a cocked up nose, and an expression of countenance in which no man with half an eye could fail to read in what land he drew his first breath, if, indeed, the rich brogue with which he returned the major's salutation had not already revealed it. Having, long since, resolved not to have my veracity as a historian impeached, I must not forget to state here, (and I warn every pugnacious critic to be careful how he points his lance at me,) that Alderman Dennis Dooley, although the firm friend of Father Fogarty, was said to be the ablest editor on the Evening Express, which for its profundity of logic, and purity of style, was truly a marvel in journalism. As for Councilman Blennerhasset, no man could bring aught against his capacity for mixing compounds of deleterious liquors, which he sold to the decaying humanity of his district; and, being what was considered a modest man, the notion came into his head that he was born for the high office of Councilman the very day he married the daughter of Alderman Dooley. Mr. Councilman Blennerhasset spoke of himself as we the common council, we the elected to do you honor on this great occasion; we the representatives of this great and glorious metropolis. Having accommodated the we a sufficient number of times to satisfy us that he had the whole city nicely tucked away in the pocket of his shabby coat, he turned round to introduce Alderman Barney O'Toole, who, as a man and a gentleman, could do more off hand fighting than any other man in the board, and was the fourth of the flabby men. But that distinguished politician and gentleman, who had been seven times sentenced for smashing the skulls of his adversaries, was not at hand, having, while Mr. Blennerhasset was thickening the compliments, winked me down into the cabin, where he drew from his pocket a luminous bottle of old Bourbon whiskey, and in the most friendly manner offered to pledge me in numerous glasses.
Just at this moment, a dozen or so of wan faced reporters, in massive beards and black hats, pressed eagerly through the crowd, and went to work like beavers dotting down all that was said, and a little more. Then commenced the address by Alderman Dan Dooley, whose breath was redolent of anything but the balm of a thousand flowers, and who delivered his speech with an unctuous self satisfaction, and in a style of rhetoric totally unknown to Pericles, and never thought of by Demosthenes. The address was carefully worded, so as to make the major a greater statesman than had been known in any previous age, which is a fashion at this day; and if I be not much mistaken, this speech was written by that witty scribbler of the "Times" newspaper, who gets up speeches for heroes at five minutes' notice, and then, having pocketed the money, laughs in his sleeve at the men he has made fools.
As addresses of the nearest possible resemblance to that delivered on this occasion by Alderman Dan Dooley, may be found almost any day in the morning papers, I hold it good economy not to occupy my valuable space in recording it here. Nor, indeed, will it be necessary to insert the major's reply, since it was very similar to that made by him to the Commodore of the Yacht Club, and may also be found in all the newspapers. And now, when these ceremonies were over, the major bethought him of his horse and pig, the former of which he found surrounded by a swarm of unruly boys, whom the strange figure he cut, with the holsters and saddlebags mounted, afforded much amusement. The latter was quietly lying down in his cage, but came forward to render homage as soon as he heard the major's voice. I should mention that the major always aimed to be up to the fashion of the times, and learning from Councilman Blennerhasset that demonstrations of a more public character had recently been declined by one or two very distinguished politicians, he made up his mind not to be a whit behind any of them, (for the reason of which the reader may discover by conjecture,) and therefore positively declined all public demonstrations, notwithstanding the Splinters' Guard was soon on the spot, ready to do him escort duty. He, however, retired into the cabin, where, (I say it without envy, for I love a brave soldier,) he took a quiet glass of whiskey and a sandwich with the very honorable "committee of reception." And this being duly noted by the reporters, (one of whom was seen purloining a sandwich or two,) the major gave directions about the care of his pig, ordered his saddlebags upon old Battle, who was weak enough in the extremities, and proceeded to the wharf amidst the deafening acclamations of a hundred ragged urchins, who, notwithstanding the distress of the animal, would have mounted and rode away, but for the kindly interposition of two policemen.
There was standing on the wharf a somewhat dilapidated carriage, to which four lean gray horses, such as are used for drawing all great heroes through the city, were harnessed, and presented so forlorn a figure that one might easily have imagined them employed by the devil to convey to his dominions that shabby class of sinners consigned to him on Sunday evenings by the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. Into this the distinguished representatives of the great metropolis insisted upon getting the major, that he might be conveyed to the apartments secured for him at the great St. Nicholas Hotel, in a manner becoming so great a politician. But as the major was not quite sure whether his reputation would be best preserved by sticking to the politician, or by dropping the politician, and sticking to his laurels as a military man, he shook his head and hesitated for some time. He was half inclined to dub himself the warrior; and as warriors always appeared best on horseback, he was, to the great delight of the throng, about to mount his faithful animal, assign me his seat in the hero-trap, and follow at a respectful distance. But he bethought himself that both were noble professions; and, surely, to emulate in both must be a prominent desire with all great men. After holding a consultation with me, he said he always remembered the motto: "Great is the man who humbles himself." Being satisfied then that it would not lessen his dignity, nor, indeed, in any way detract from the character of a military politician, who had need enough to look to his laurels, he agreed that Alderman Dan Dooley should ride old Battle. And with this resolve he at once repaired to the carriage, in which he took a seat with the three gentlemen of the committee, leaving me to pick my way as best I could, and drove away for the hotel, (followed at a respectful distance by the loquacious alderman, thus comically mounted,) with this strange string of cattle. And this wonderful cortége was followed by scores of hooting and ragged urchins, who switched old Battle's gambrels, and annoyed him in so many ways, that the alderman at length lost his temper, and was several times forced to dismount and beat back the harassing enemy with stones and such other weapons as he could lay his hands on.
And now, gentle reader, fearing I may weary you with this long train of nonsense, which, however, I have endeavored to make conform to the follies of the day, I will close this chapter, and for what took place at the great St. Nicholas Hotel, refer you to the next. _