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2. The Old Flag.
He was the nephew of Ross the mighty Sachem of that tribe and was a warrior of chivalrous bearing. But the Choctaw leader was of another mould. He bore the lofty appellation of UMBLE-BEE, and delighted in rude sports and deeds of dreadful note. Behind him came ORCHIMALTHA, the Creek leader, in all the dreadful glory of war-paint.
It was but a moment, and all seemed over.
The pale-faces, taken by surprise, (like Brashear City,) were completely paralyzed. Destiny shook her dreadful fangs. Revenge brooded over the scene. Mercy fled beyond the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and Despair’s dark pinions settled down, like a buzzard bird of prey.
The gigantic savage, who bore the sounding name of OKCHIMALTHA, had seized the gentle Lady of Deign, by her long, dishevelled locks and was drawing around her throbbing temples his ensanguined scalping knife, when suddenly a noble and stalwert form broke through the ranks of red demons, and a clarion-voice rang on the din of battle.
It was her protector – the last lawful husband of that gentle victim! It was the renowned and puissant traveller – SIR HENRICI O’DEIGN!
With one bound he sprang three hundred and sixty-six feet, and gathered his fainting spouse within one arm, whilst the other brandished a war club, which he had torne from a Patagonian giant on the banks of the Rhine. Confronting the collonal farm of OKCHI-MALTHA, he exclaimed in a voice like the roaring of an horned rhinocerous, a rugged Russian boar, or a Nycean tiger in the forests of New Jersey –
“Avaunt, savage! O-r-r-r –“
“Who art thou?” demanded the Red Chief, as he licked the blood from his gory hatchet and glared at the intrudere.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
[Drawing of a hand.]
STATISTICS. – There have been manufactured by knife in this Camp, since last September, over forty setts of Chessmen, of which LT. JOHN WOODWARD has himself completed eight of the best!
The number of Pipes turned out, as near as can be arrived at, is not less than FIVE HUNDRED – both of wood and clay.
[Drawing of a hand.]
GYMNASEUM. – A “muscle strea-ngthner has been erected at the foot of Water St, and another one at the foot of Fifth Avenue.”
A very good thing for those who are too feeble or delicate to become “hewers of wood, or drawers of water – and for those who are ambitious enough to engage in both.”
DIED.
[A drawing of a tombstone is in between the two columns of the following poem.]
Peace to his dust,/ Who sleeps beneath/ His soul, we trust,/ Our DEAR LORD seeth
Though stranger tread/ Shall press this sod,/ Soft rests the head/ That rests with God.
SURGEON A.J. CUMMINGS, of the 42nd Mass. Vols, at CAMP GROCE, Sept. 9th, 1863.
2d. LT. B.F. BARTLETT, 3rD Mass. Vols., Aug 22d, 1863.
1st Lt. J.W. RUMSEY, 175 N.Y.V. Oct. 11th, 1863
FOR THE OLD FLAG
AN OCEAN ADVENTURE.
BY HARRY H______ Author of the “Wild Boy of the West,” – “The Red Robber of the Green Mountains” – “The Virgin of Utah” – and other tails, too numerous to mention – or any other man!
WHILE acting as Signal Officer on board the “TYODA ADLA,” ostensebly filled out as a Whaler from Cin-cinnatti, but really laden with a cargo of mess-pork and missionaries for the Fagee Islands, ___ The following scene took place, which has never before been revealed. It was during one of those long Tropical calms which are so irksome to the nautical Traveller not a ruffle disturbed the placid surface of the ocean. A large flock of Turkey-buzzards, were satisfying their delicate appetite from the carcass of a whale, we had a few days previously destroyed by a dexterous stern board movement of our sky-sail boom, which entered his vitals, and caused him to utter his death shriek, and emit those rain-bow jets of blood and tallow, which are said to be the cause of the The Aurora Borealis. I had arranged at the extreme end of the bow-spirit my arm chair, and was seated therein, and if I remember rightly, was engaged in reading a Speech of W.H. Seward, which I had taken down in short hand the week previously. The serene, calm and undisturbed appearance of everything caused the most exhilirating emotions, which, alas! I have not the ability to describe.
Suddenly, a cry of “Sail ho! On the weather bow!” was heard from the cock-pit, “Hard up!” cried the Captain, in his stentorian voice. “Brace up and hard aft! Set studding-sails alow and aloft. Hard up the foresail and let the jib run: keep her right in the winds eye!” all of which orders were executed in the midst of that sabbath calm which agitated the slumbering deep.
Not a breath of air disturbed the waters. The ships rapidly closed with each other. All hands were called to quarters and asked if they would stand by their brave commander, which was anwered by the natural, “Ahoy!” and hitch of trowsers, customary among brave and jolly tars in well regulated ships. The stranger had approached within jib-boom distance of our gallant ship. It was about 2 PM, the scorching sun was descending with all its tropical force, our battle lanterns were lit, and everything in readiness for the coming conflict.
The stranger hailed,
“Where are you from?”
“Canton, in China!” replied out intrepid commmander. “Square the main-yard! Where are ” replied out intrepid commmander. “Square the main-yard! Where are you from?”
“Cape Cod, In America!” thundered the no less valiant Captain of the sloop. “Hear aft the main-sheet!”
Our galient skipper threw his iron-bound trumpet to the Cook, retired to his cabin, and gave orders that he should not be disturbed till the gale moderated.
The sloop shot like an arrow over the trackless ocean, and soon after providentially continued her voyage.
The next day we passed Cape Horn, and one week later I had the pleasure of reaching London.
But the perils of the trackless deep through which I had so miraculously passed, caused me to desire a less hazardous profession, and I soon after entered for practice at the noble British bar, with the privilage of seeking my cliants on the Rhine, the Rhone, and the German Ocean.
WM. JOHNSON, CORNER OF BATTERY-PLACE AND BROADWAY,
Chess-men, Checker-men, &c.
A GRAND MASQUERADE AND FANCY-DRESS BALL, will be given on SATURDAY EVENING, March 19th, 1864, at PARK-SQUARE.
[Drawing of a hand.] Good MUSIC by the “Ford City Band,” and the Fiddler Guaranteed strictly temperate!
CAMP Ford Pilosophy.
ILLUSTRATED BY A MORAL POEM, CALLED
THE JOLLY OLD COCK.
A jolly old cock/ Was cast on a rock - / A rock jutting out in the sea;/ And said he to himself - / “I’m cast on this shelf,/ As Merit is used to be!/ I don’t care a curse;/ It might have been worse.”/ Said this jolly old cock, said he;/ I’ve still got a bunch/ To serve for a lunch,/ And a capital view of the sea!/ Who’d be this? Who’d be that?/ Who’d be lean? Who’d be fat?/ Who’d live – or the thread of life sever?/ There’s always a bore/ Of some kind in store/ And will be forever and ever./ So I think I can die/ Without piping my eye * * * */ But a ship was just nearing the rock:/ And he giggled with joy,/ When the crew cried “ahoy!”/ And RESCUED this jolly old cock!!!
LATEST RUMORS. – On dit _ that the unfortunate class of our citizens known as “gun-boats” are to be retained as prisoners until the blockade is raised.
Woodward & Co., Manufacturers of CHESS-MEN, CHECKERS, &c., &c., &c., Corner SOAP & FRONT STS.
