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CHAPTER VII.

THE "LONE STAR" STATE.-TURCHIN IN ALABAMA "OUT-HERODING BUTLER IN LOUISIANA.-WM. G. RROWNLOW, THE "BARNUM" OF THE SOUTH.-GRAPE-VINE LINE ACTIVE. THE "FOURTH ESTATE" IN PRISON. HOW WE OBTAIN STIMULANTS.-GREAT EXCITEMENT IN CAMP.-CONFEDERATES REPORTED VICTORIOUS. THE MUNIFICENCE OF OUR CUSTODIANS.-OUR LAUNDRY.-HUMAN NATURE IN BREAD CHUNKS.-EDWIN M. STANTON, SECRETARY OF WAR.ARRIVAL OF CIVILIANS.-MURDER OF A PRISONER BY A SENTINEL.-BIG GATE. THEY STOLE MY WHISKEY, AND ROBBED PETER TO PAY PAUL-JOKE ON OUR CUSTODIANS.-PICNICIANS ON THE ᎡᎪᎷᏢᎪᏀᎬ,

E have thirty-two officers in prison from Texas. To

the distinguishing of these brave and daring men from the natives of other States, as he traverses our campus, is no difficult task. One of the most remarkable characters from Texas, with us, is Lieutenant D. P. Gallagher. He has held his own, in every circle in which he has ever figured-California, Nicaragua, thence into the fields of Texas, then a soldier, now a prisoner. "Texas," as we call him, is as little susceptible of change as any prisoner in the pen; has a head and hand shaped right, for "poker," of which game he is the acknowledged chief; and he is a perfect specimen of the men of that soil, that has been watered by the blood of Crockett, Travis, and Bowie. The other Texans with us are a distinguished body of officers, who will make their mark, whenever time and place offers an opportunity.

The following are those personally known to us: Sergeant S. F. Moody, Captain W. S. Moody, Lieutenant Č. F. Moore, Lieutenant W. McAlpine, Lieutenant J. C. Lowe, Lieutenant G. B. Lipscomb, Lieutenant J. D.

Henderson, Robert H. High, Wm. T. Harris, Lieutenant A. Ford, Lieutenant J. H. English, Lieutenant S. P. Donnelly, Adjutant W. D. Daylen, Lieutenant J. H. Collet, Lieutenant J. H. Coven, Lieutenant J. M. Craig, Lieutenant Thomas B. Camp, Captain J. W. Brown, Captain H. M. Bradheart, George A. Blain, George F. Boley, Captain E. F Broughton, Lieutenant E. Ballinger, Lieutenant T. J. Bell.

We have sad news in prison to-day from Alabama, relating to abominable atrocities, committed at Athens, in that State, by a horde of barbarians, under the immediate command of Colonel Turchin, the same miscreant, who disgraced the name of soldier in Missouri, committing excesses, that the soul of civilization revolts at. Let this officer and his command be remembered by the gallant sons of Alabama. Let them inscribe upon their banners, Victory or death, over all such murderers as Turchin and his command, those violators of children, robbers, and assassins, authors of crimes so monstrous, that human nature revolts at their recital, Butler, the 'beast,' and Turchin, the American Haynau."" (The Austrian tyrant merely lashed women; this would be a mild offense for Turchin.)

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William G. Brownlow,* the " Barnum" of the South. This arrant “humbug," now perambulating the gullible North, is hardly worth a few lines; but as he has attracted some attention, by the publication of a huge volume of blackguardisms, and vituperative falsehoods, it would seem vain to overlook him. This blasphemer is politically what the French call a "charlatan," good society a "blackguard," the rabble a "brick." He says, he never took a "drink" in his life. His little, weazened and cadaverous features show the absence of that soul, that incites a man, to indulge in a "little wine for the stomach's sake." He says, he does not use tobacco. This we also believe, as

* No greater scoundrel than the present Governor of Tennessee ever disgraced the gubernatorial chair of any State. This agrarian is a curse upon the soil; and there can be no relief from his putrid carcass, until the Father of lies claims his son-W. G. Brownlow, the blackguard, incendiary, and blasphemer. His book, Childs, of the Philadelphia "Ledger," gave him $15,000 for; to help him, 'tis said.

he is too mean to buy it. I met this clerical hypocrite at the Baltimore convention, where I had a fine opportunity, of listening to his ribaldry and cant. He has no talent. His reputation, as a writer, is based upon the same capital that built up Bennett-a sort of "stingare." Brownlow has some nerve; as he fears no Hell, conscious that no element has more fire in it, than his own bad passions. The Revolution has thrown him to the surface, as it has other scum; and failing in his attempt to impose upon the South, he has sold out to the North, whom he is now "Barnumizing."

To-day, Sunday, July 21st, 1862, is the most violently active one we have had. Grape-vine has been startlingly alive, to the merest rumors. Slips from ancient papers, with letters from hopeful and confident Fort Warren prisoners, were eagerly scrutinized, and in some instances severely criticized. One letter from Colonel Cooke, of the Thirty-second Tennessee, one of the most popular officers in the army, reads, "Be of good cheer, we will be out in a few days." But unfortunately for the reliability of the colonel's judgment, he wrote the same thing two months ago, proving our Fort Warren friends to be as credulous as ourselves. The letters, however, from all quarters, are more cheering, and we are more hopeful.

The father of Captain Hedden visited us yesterday, an intelligent citizen of New Jersey, who is sanguine of our speedy exchange. Some one has a letter from Colonel Lyon, who has one from Colonel Kenly, of Baltimore, who saw Stanton, who said, that the only impediment was Buckner; but that the Federal government had agreed to give np this noble Kentuckian; and that General Dix had been authorized to accede to the demands of the Confederates, and arrange as per cartel of 1812; all of which makes a pretty good chain of circumstantial evidence in exchange, which has carried the stock up to-day, “higher than a kite." May the stock still go up, up, up, until we go down, down, down, to Dixie, where, "With a bottle of whiskey in each hand,

Many will make their gallant stand

In the happy land of Dixie."

The press is the most powerful of all the moral engines in the world; it has more influence upon the mass, than all other forces combined. The press, with the powerful influence it wields, is not always the leader of popular opinion. It usually feels the public pulse, and taking its direction from their impulses, leaps to the front of the progressive element, and becomes its champion; too often assuming any expedient that may give it prestige with its "drawn in followers." The press, under the control of a badly balanced head, is mighty to do evil; directed by the power of a bad heart, is a dangerous weapon, and powerless for good; but in the hands of wisdom, the press is the most beneficent creation in the physical world. The "New York Herald." This sheet comes out after the battle of Fair Oaks, (which is claimed as a brilliant victory by the Confederates,) and says in flaming capitals, "Glorious victory for the United States forces under McClellan, our loss 200." A few days afterward, in small print, "200 typographical error, loss supposed to be 3,000." A week afterward, in still smaller print, "real loss about 7,000." But the aim of the "Herald" is accomplished, the first impression upon the public mind is lasting, and the after corrections are of little importance until the developments of time prove the "Herald's' falsehoods, and then, the articles are only remembered by a few, as the mass, in the exciting present, lose sight of the past, and the "Herald," with the independence of impunity, goes on lying. The "Tribune" says "A or B, is a great scoundrel," in large type. A hundred thousand readers pore over its slanders, and believe them. The following day, the amende honorable is made in small type, and is read by (possibly) one half of those who swallowed the slander of the previous "issue." Thus fifty thousand persons remain under the impression, for the balance of their days, that the man is a great rascal. All papers have a weakness for puffing Adams' Express. On the sea-board and river towns, steamships and steamboats. Editors, in general, are fond of whiskey. Writers for literary weeklies, of women and the twist of their moustache. Political editors yearn for fat consulates.

Printer's devils are really impish, follow copy if it if it goes out the window; criticize the chirography of correspondents, and curse the want of brain that presents unintelligible manuscript, yet emanating from the genius of an individual who loans the editor sufficient to meet composition bills. Carriers are in ecstacy when the "New Year's Address" is profitable; too many of them chew, smoke, and swear, and if you don't watch them, will sell you a paper a week old. Like the Gamins of Paris, they look upon the world as their victims, outside of their own craft.

I was standing on Lafayette Square, in the city of New Orleans, some years since, witnessing a review of the "Louisiana Legion," by Major-General Lewis. I was anxious to hear Jordan, the famous old drummer of New Orleans, and Mexican war notoriety, and to see the evolutions of the "Louisiana Grays," a celebrated company of the Crescent City. Being a stranger, I interrogated one of two little news-venders standing by, as to the position of the company in the line? The little fellow looked me right square in the eye, while he expectorated a quid, with the nonchalance of a Jack tar, answered, ask Bill, I don't study geography, then opened a battery on the passers by, "here's your Crescent, Picayune, Bee, and Delta." The boys always take to the political tenets of their paper, and discuss the "why and wherefore," with as much enthusiasm, if not with as much ability, as their wiser "bosses." Papers, like theories, have their day, flourish, decay, and die. The smart ones, who control theirs, get rich during the sunshine. Philadelphia papers were once potent; they yielded to Boston, and now New York bears off the palm. Bonner, with his blood and thunder stories, having trotted (Dexter-like) over the field of weekly journalism. He, as others before him, will live a few years, and Bonner's "Ledger" will be among the things that were. Before the innovations of the telegram, and the retirement of Kendall, the "Picayune," of New Orleans, was par excellence the journal of the South, and was to that section, what the "New York World" is to the North; the "Boston Post" to the East, and the

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