The men did the picturesque,and did it so well that Washington looked like a mammoth masquerade.Spanish hats,scarlet lined riding cloaks,swords and sashes,high boots and bright spurs,beards and mustaches,which made plain faces comely,and comely faces heroic;these vanities of the flesh transformed our butchers,bakers,and candlestick makers into gallant riders of gaily caparisoned horses,much handsomer than themselves;and dozens of such figures were constantly prancing by,with private prickings of spurs,for the benefit of the perambulating flower-bed.Some of these gentlemen affected painfully tight uniforms,and little caps,kept on by some new law of gravitation,as they covered only the bridge of the nose,yet never fell off;the men looked like stuffed fowls,and rode as if the safety of the nation depended on their speed alone.The fattest,greyest officers dressed most,and ambled statelily along,with orderlies behind,trying to look as if they didn't know the stout party in front,and doing much caracoling on their own account.
The mules were my especial delight;and an hour's study of a constant succession of them introduced me to many of their characteristics;for six of these odd little beasts drew each army wagon,and went hopping like frogs through the stream of mud that gently rolled along the street.The coquettish mule had small feet,a nicely trimmed tassel of a tail,perked up ears,and seemed much given to little tosses of the head,affected skips and prances;and,if he wore the bells,or were bedizzened with a bit of finery,put on as many airs as any belle.The moral mule was a stout,hard-working creature,always tugging with all his might;often pulling away after the rest had stopped,laboring under the conscientious delusion that food for the entire army depended upon his private exertions.I respected this style of mule;and had I possessed a juicy cabbage,would have pressed it upon him,with thanks for his excellent example.The historical mule was a melo-dramatic quadruped,prone to startling humanity by erratic leaps,and wild plunges,much shaking of his stubborn head,and lashing out of his vicious heels;now and then falling flat and apparently dying a la Forrest :a gasp?a squirm?a flop,and so on,till the street was well blocked up,the drivers all swearing like demons in bad hats,and the chief actor's circulation decidedly quickened by every variety of kick,cuff jerk,and haul.When the last breath seemed to have left his body,and "Doctors were in vain,"a sudden resurrection took place;and if ever a mule laughed with scornful triumph,that was the beast,as he leisurely rose,gave a comfortable shake,and calmly regarding the excited crowd seemed to say?"A hit !a decided bit !for the stupidest of animals has bamboozled a dozen men.Now,then !what are you stopping the way for?"The pathetic mule was,perhaps,the most interesting of all;for,though he always seemed to be the smallest,thinnest,weakest of the six,the postillion,with big boots,long-tailed coat,and heavy whip,was sure to bestride this one,who struggled feebly along,head down,coat muddy and rough,eye spiritless and sad,his very tail a mortified stump,and the whole beast a picture of meek misery,fit to touch a heart of stone.The jovial mule was a roly poly,happy-go-lucky little piece of horse-flesh,taking everything easily,from cudgeling to caressing;strolling along with a roguish twinkle of the eye,and,if the thing were possible,would have had his hands in his pockets,and whistled as he went.
If there ever chanced to be an apple core,a stray turnip,or wisp of hay,in the gutter,this Mark Tapley was sure to find it,and none of his mates seemed to begrudge him his bite.I suspected this fellow was the peacemaker,confidant and friend of all the others,for he had a sort of "Cheer-up,-old-boy,-I'll-pull-you-through"look,which was exceedingly engaging.
Pigs also possessed attractions for me,never having had an opportunity of observing their graces of mind and manner,till I came to Washington,whose porcine citizens appeared to enjoy a larger liberty than many of its human ones.Stout,sedate looking pigs,hurried by each morning to their places of business,with a preoccupied air,and sonorous greeting to their friends.Genteel pigs,with an extra curl to their tails,promenaded in pairs,lunching here and there,like gentlemen of leisure.Rowdy pigs pushed the passers by off the side walk;tipsy pigs hiccoughed their version of "We wont go home till morning,"from the gutter;and delicate young pigs tripped daintily through the mud,as if,like "Mrs.Peery-bingle,"they plumed themselves upon their ankles,and kept themselves particularly neat in point of stockings.Maternal pigs,with their interesting families,strolled by in the sun;and often the pink,baby-like squealers Iay down for a nap,with a trust in Providence worthy of human imitation.
But more interesting than officers,ladies,mules,or pigs,were my colored brothers and sisters,because so unlike the respectable members of society I'd known in moral Boston.
Here was the genuine article?no,not the genuine article at all,we must go to Africa for that?but the sort of creatures generations of slavery have made them:obsequious,trickish,lazy and ignorant,yet kind-hearted,merry-tempered,quick to feel and accept the least token of the brotherly love which is slowly teaching the white hand to grasp the black,in this great struggle for the liberty of both the races.
Having been warned not to be too rampant on the subject of slavery,as secesh principles flourished even under the respectable nose of Father Abraham,I had endeavored to walk discreetly,and curb my unruly member;looking about me with all my eyes,the while,and saving up the result of my observations for future use.
