University of Virginia Library

43. CHAPTER XLIII.
THE FROG CONCERT AND CAMPAIGN.

The army of Greene were taking rest for the first time for
several days, at the close of that which witnessed their insulting
demonstrations before the garrison of Orangeburg. We have
seen that their camp lay only four miles from that village:— a
mellow sunset overspread the scene, and gentle breezes from the
west cooled off sweetly the heat of a day, the ardency of which
had severely tried tried all parties. The utmost languor for
a while pervaded the encampment. The troops lay about upon
the grass, under the trees, with half-shut eyes, enjoying that
dreamy sensation which supervenes after fatigue, and before
recuperation — mind and body in concert, as it were, for mutual
restoration. But few of the groups visible in our foreground,
were capable of exertion, and but few, indeed, of those whom
we do not see, were any more equal to it than those immediately
before our eyes. Here and there, some important adjutant,
ensign, or corporal, might be found, restlessly employed, giving
orders about the use of moonshine. Troopers who had thrown
their chief burdens on the loins of their horses, were, perhaps,
the most lively; and groups of these were to be seen, busy in
consuming the last drops of sunshine and Jamaica at command,
while flirting the cards at “old sledge” from well-thumbed and
greasy packs of “pictures,” pitching quoits, or grooming horses.
We confess that Marion's men were the chief sinners after this
fashion; his boys of Santee, Pedee, Waccamaw, and the parish
country generally, having a sort of natural calling for the fine
arts, were busy with cards and coppers at every rest. Cards
and dice constituted so many fine arts in their hands. It was
the boast of some of them that they could extract all sorts of
music, fun, and philosophy, from the four aces.

To this general rest and languor of the army, there were,
however, some striking exceptions. The command of Marion
stretched toward the Caw-caw. In the woods of this region, an
hour before sunset, there might be seen a squad of twenty
troopers, dark, bronzed, half-naked young savages, following,
with some interest, the speech and movements of a large,
broad-shouldered, and great-bellied personage, wearing the
uniform — somewhat doubtful, indeed, because of rents, stains,
and deficiencies — of a captain of dragoons. He was on foot,
and by no means active of movement, though taking his steps
with the confidence of a war-horse, and the solid firmness of an
elephant. He was a fine-looking fellow, in spite of the too
great obtrusion upon the sight of his abdominal territory, a region
which he, nevertheless, endeavored to circumscribe within
reasonable bounds by a girthing of leather, only half covered
with a crimson sash, which no doubt had the desired effect in
some degree, though at some sacrifice of the wearer's comforts.
His face was full almost as the moon at full, of a ruddy brown,
his head massive, chin large and prominent eyes, bright but
small, and mouth eager with animation. His nose was decidedly
intellectual. At his elbow stood a negro, jacket off, and arms
akimbo, who followed the motions of his superior with a mixed
air of deference and assurance. Around these two the troopers
were gathered. Before the group, slaughtered and skinned,
hanging from a tree, was one of the lean beeves of the country
— a poor skinny beast, weighing some two hundred pounds,
gross, bone, meat, skin, offal! Near at hand stood a small, rickety,
covered wagon, the contents of which we may conjecture.
It was one of Marion's recent captures from the convoy of
Stewart; and contained, no doubt, some resources, the value
of which may be guessed from the mysterious looks which
were, every now and then, cast upon it by passing groups of
thirsty dragoons, the very glances of whom are apt to burst
locks, and consume stores.

Our captain was busy with the commissariat of the brigade
— not as the head of it, by no means, but as premier — headcounsellor,
and legal and moral adviser.

“I tell you, Fickling, it will never do. Tell me there were
no better beeves to be had! You have just taken what they

please to give you. You are too modest. It is the infirmity
of your family, whenever the interest is not absolutely and
directly your own. We do this business of foraging for all the
army, yet it seems that the meanest share is always to fall to
us. Tell me nothing of Colonel Lee. He has an independent
legion; let him pick up his own beeves. As for the field-officers,
I do not see that their official position confers upon
them any right to better tastes and appetites than a poor captain
of partisan cavalry. I thank my stars that I have tastes
which are as well cultivated as any brigadier or colonel in the
army. And shall my tastes be defrauded, because these epauletted
buffaloes are greedy, and you are mealy-mouthed? Why
the devil don't you assert yourself, man, and assist us, as you
should, when the distribution of the beef takes place? You are
a fool, Fickling, for your submission! Colonel Lee's man steps
before you, and says, `Colonel Lee;' and Colonel Washington's
man starts up, and says, `Colonel Washington'— and these,
and a score of others, even while they speak, clap hands on
the best pieces, and choose the fattest flanks; and when all are
served, you steal up, with finger in your mouth, and murmur,
`Is anything left for General Marion?' Is that the way to do
business? I tell you, `No, sir!' Your true way is to take the
best that offers — lay bold hands on it — nay, thrust it through
with your naked sabre, and say, `Marion's brand!' Do the
thing as you should, with the proper look and manner, and not
a rapscallion in the army, representing no matter what division,
dare lay hands on it after that! If they do, let me be at your
elbow next time, with two or three fellows of my choosing!”

“But, Captain Porgy—”

“But me no buts, Mr. Fickling. I'll have you out of your
office, if you do not but against this sort of distribution. You
are to provide us; and, if you do not comprehend that our soldiers
are just as deserving of good food as any continentals in
the service, you are not fit for our service, and I'll have you
out of it. General Marion himself submits quite too much to
this sort of treatment. If there is a fine horse in the brigade,
it is immediately wanted for some one of Lee's dragoons — some
d—d henchman or bugleman — and off the colonel goes to
Greene, and tells him that his legion wants horses, and that

Marion has enough and to spare, and we are called upon to dismount,
and provide other people. Yet are we kept day and
night on the trot — off to-day for the Pon-pon and Savannah,
to-morrow for the Pedee — now running down tories, now cattle;
seeking information, scouting, spying, called out at all
hours; and how is this to be done, if we are to give up our
horses. The brigade has covered all this low country, from the
Pedee to the Savannah, for three years and more, and the best
that is got in the forays that we alone make, are served out to
these hungry feeders. I won't submit to it. They shall neither
have my horses nor my cattle; and if you take any more such
beef as this, Fickling, when better is to be had, we'll turn you,
neck and heels, out of your department.”

“But, Captain Porgy —”

“See to it!”

“But—”

“See to it! That's all! I say no more — to you! — Tom!”

“Sah!”

“Get our share of that carrion! See what you can do with
it. We must have soup, I suppose. Make a pilaw. We have
plenty of pepper now. You can hardly get a decent steak from
the beast. But do what you can. I must see after something
more. We are to have company to-night. I have asked the
great men, the big-wigs, the governor, Generals Marion and
Sumter, the colonels of the brigade, Maham, Singleton, and
a few others. Have everything ready by ten o'clock. Did
you succeed in getting any melons?”

“I empty one patch, maussa.”

“Whose?”

“I dunn know quite 'zackly, but he's a fiel' jes' yer on de
back ob de village. De melons is quite 'spectable.”

“Ripe?”

“As de sunshine kin make 'em.”

“Good! Do as much stealing in an honest way as you can!
D—n the patriotism that can't eat stolen fruits!”

“Wha' else you guine hab, maussa.”

“Who knows what I can get? I must look. There ought to
be frogs here in abundance, and of good size. Not such as we
can find in a rice reserve, Tom, but passable in war-time, and

delicate enough for hot weather. I shall look out for a young
alligator or two.”

“Dat'll do! Gi' me two young alligator tail, and de frog,
and I gi' you fus' rate tuttle soup and ball, and steak.”

“Must have a ragout, Tom. Have you seen no pigs about,
Tom!”

“Nebber yer de fus' squeak, maussa.”

“Well”— with a grunt — “we must do as we can. Come,
boys, are you ready?”

“Ay, ay, captain!” from a score of voices; and a dozen active
young fellows presented themselves, armed with wooden
spears and knives.

“Where's George Dennison?”

A voice answered from the foot of a tree.

“Come along, George; don't be lazy. What you shall see
this evening will enable you to beat Homer in a new epic, in
which cranes and frogs shall figure to posterity.”

And, following the corpulent captain, the whole party pushed
down to the swamp.

“There's a battalion for you, George Dennison. Not a
rascal under six feet — half a dozen nearer seven. I chose
them specially for the expedition. They are our cranes, and
are all eager for the war.”

“And the frogs are sounding for the conflict. Hear their
tongues, already. The concert for the evening is begun. Hear
the chirruping overture:—

“By the way, captain, a frog concert, would not be a bad
speculation in the great cities of Europe. How a score or two
of musical fellows, who had once or twice slept in our swamps,
or lingered after sunset along our rice-fields, would make capital
out of it! And such a sensation. What a hurly-burly,
subdued to order, they could make of it.”

“No doubt! The notes and tones occupy every note of the
gamut! It is a rare original music. But the secret would lie

in making the music tributary to satire. The frogs should furnish
a running commentary on the follies and vices of society,
as in Aristophanes, only adapted to our times. It would task
art admirably to work out of it an opera — the Loves of the
Frogs Little Squeaka, the dreaming sentimental damsel, just
emerging into society — coming out; in her train some half a
dozen Jockos — minnows of fashion, that sing in a love-lisp
always — Therubina! ah! Therubina! Oh the rich fun of such
a farcical! Of what a delightful variety would the affair admit!
The lover, the villain, the priest, the mother — all the usual
varieties, not forgetting Arlecchino. Of course, the frogs are
not less fortunate than their betters. They have a Jack Pudding
among them. The squirrels have I know.”

“Don't forget the duenna! Hear her falsetto, squeaking
through a score of crevices in her broken teeth:—

Thus it was that the rustic poet of the partisans, gave forth
extempore an embodiment of the music of the frogpondians.

“Hurrah!” cried Porgy, “hurrah, Geordie — why, man, you
are native, to frog manor born, with all the pipes and bellows
of the swamp in your own wind-bags; or to requite you in your
own coin:—

And thus doggrelizing as they went, the two led their laughing
cohort down into the swamp.

The Caw-caw was in full concert. Bull and bell, squeak and
shriek, moan and groan. All the artistes were in exercise, engaged,
no doubt, in some rehearsal, preparatory to some great
ceremonial — the bridal, possibly, of the young princess of the
pondians.

Porgy and his corps, with their pointed spears of wood,
wooden forks, baskets, and knives, stole down into the lagunes.
What a picture for the stage! What an action for the burlesque
drama! But the matter was a serious one enough for
one of the parties. Long will the frogs of that ilk remember
with wailing the raid of the cranes of that day. Could you
have seen those long, gaunt backwoodsmen, each with shaft,
prong, or trident, striding hither and thither in the bog and
lake, striding right and left, poised above their great-eyed enemies,
and plunging forward to grapple the wounded and squalling
victim before he should sheer off, or, as George Dennison
said afterward, describing the affair in sonorous heroics:—

It was a war of shallow waters. Habitual croakers are only
justified when they perish. They have nothing to complain of.
They always seem to anticipate their fate, and this seems to
prove it only just execution after judgment — which, of course,
is legal and becoming. Our partisans had grown expert in this
sort of warfare. The Caw-caw swamp was a region in which
the frogs held populous communities and cities, and — you know
the proverb — “Thick grass is easier cut than thin.” It was a
massacre! Every spearman could count his score or two of
slain, and, really, a very pretty spectacle they made when,
emerging from the swamp, each carried his victims aloft, transfixed
upon a sharp and slender rod, run through at the neck,
eyes wider than ever, and legs and arms spread about in all

directions. Nor was this all. No less than three young alligators
and three times as many terrapins were surprised and captured,
almost without a struggle, and borne off in triumph to
the camp! The wailing in the Caw-caw that night was not
greatly lessened by the loss of so many sonorous voices, since
we may reasonably suppose that maternal suffering sent up
such extra clamors for the absence of precious young ones, as
more than atoned for the diminished forces of the community.

“On your lives, boys, not a word of what we have been doing,”
said Captain Porgy. They all swore to keep faith.

“There are thousands of clever people in the world,” he
added, “who require to be surprised into happiness. Some of
my guests, to-night, are probably of this description. I shall
teach them a new pleasure — nay, a new moral in a new pleasure
— teach them how absurd it is to despise any of the gifts
of Providence.”

And, following out this policy, it was with great secrecy that
the spoils of the frog campaign were conveyed to his quarters,
and delivered over to the custody of Tom, his cook. Tom, we
may add, like every sensible cook, made a sufficient mystery of
his art to keep prying curiosity away from the kitchen whenever
he was engaged in any of his culinary combinations. Let
us leave these for other parties, and for proceedings of more
imposing consequence if less attractive performance. We shall
seek to be present when supper is on the table.