A Council of War
Dramatis Personae
Francos..... High Cockalorum.
Sir Henmart... Vice Cockalorum.
Sir Higgs.... Councillor.
Sir Windbag... Councillor.
Col. Toady... Grand Enumerator.
Scene: Executive Chamber.
Francos:
Ah! woe is me, my gentle councillors.
Again has treason shown its slimy head;
And from its source, I fear me, it doth bode
But ill to us, who God’s anointed are.
If pedagogues may raise disdainful voice
And gross abuse on the elect bestow
Can safety from vituperation vile
From out this rotten mob be e’er assured?
Sir Henmart:
Good Francos, as this matter emanates
From out the sphere of my prerogative,
I feel a special sorrow doth becloud
The sunny pathway which I late have trod.
I find it difficult to blaze my way;
The competent among my teaching corps
Are those who dare opinions firm to form;
If loyalty alone shall be test,
’Twill leave us but a small unthinking host,
And then efficiency will find its grave
Within the tomb of our official rage.
Sir Windbag:
But Caesar grieveth that his mighty star,
Which in the human firmament doth shine
So brightly that it lighteth up the world,
Should be bespattered by this inky mud.
Col. Toady:
Ah, it were sacrilege to thus befoul
The mighty soul whose penetration deep
Hath by selection brought this galaxy
Of excellence to lead this groping state
In paths which lead to freedom and to pow’r.
Sir Higgs:
Alas, ’twas ever thus. I, in the past,
Have suffered from the pricks of nagging quills,
And all who mount aloft on fortune’s wing
Must bear with ripe philosophy such ills.
Francos:
But loyalty! In Tammany I learned
That duty meek, subservient, should mark
The underlings, who but a stairway make
By which capacity doth climb to pow’r.
Efficiency! it were an idle word,
And rings not soundly on politic ear;
Obedience, the watchword e’er should be.
To do and not to think we must demand.
The welfare of our party e’er should be
Our slogan even in this wilderness;
And he who doth as critic act a part
Should quickly feel the headsman’s shining blade.
Sir Windbag:
But, sire, from signs I read on every hand
If such a policy were long pursued
We must import from out our native land
More Loyal Democrats, who longing wait
To most efficiently infuse “new blood”
Where now stagnation makes the veins turn blue.
Col. Toady:
Right, right you are! I know an anxious host
Who long have languished from the want of pap,
And once were they turned loose, the energy
So long stored up would vivify this state,
But this fool civil service bars the way—
It should be thrust aside for party’s good.
Francos:
Thy words do to my willing ear appeal,
But our politic foes are strong entrenched,
While mockish sentiment doth strongly point
To danger, if we cast the scoundrels out.
Col. Toady:
But, sire, in Washington they work a plan
Which, while it seems to vindicate the law,
Roots out the vermin by demoting them,
And thus our Southern veterans find a place.
Sir Higgs:
But, friends, doth prudence warrant such a step?
Already inefficiency doth creep
Into each bureau till our revenues
Do warning give that we must now beware.
Sir Windbag:
But, gentlemen, our salaries are sure;
If needs must be, cut down and slyly pare
Along the line where least resistance lies,
And on our predecessors throw the blame.
Francos:
But Caesar an accounting will demand
Should this frail craft be wrecked or run aground,
For he doth wish to cast it soon adrift
With crew well drilled to threatening shoals avoid.
Sir Higgs:
Here wisdom surely speaks in trumpet tones,
And hence we must adventure wisely make
To guide the vessel on its way with care
And launch it as a well-manned sturdy craft;
Then, whatsoe’er befalls them, we can wash
Our hands, for they by importunity
Most strong, will then have ventured on the cruise
In unknown seas where dangers dark do dwell.
Col. Toady:
Ha! well we know the course the ship will take
With men of color standing at the helm;
But let them reap the tares which they have sown,
We care not if they cut each other’s throats.
Sir Windbag:
But, gentle sir, if they desire to war,
Why should we hinder such a sportive game?
They own those isles, and why should we debar
Them pastimes, for “they know just what they want.”
Francos:
But, sirs, we wander from the vital point.
I called this conclave to impress with force
The import great of sifting from our ranks
Those evil-minded men, whose loyalty
Is doubtful, and may bring lasting reproach
Upon our policies, and thus besmirch
The reputation of that Jove-like pair
That rules the destiny of our great state.
Col Toady:
Ha, thou hast said! In all the universe,
No other souls, like these, can quick discern
Great worth combined with mental attributes
Which qualify for high official place:
When in these isles a census must be made
Their eagle eyes discerned my hiding place
And then perceiving qualities most rare
Demanded that I serve the public weal!
Sir Henmart:
And me! Hid in my happy prairie home,
They tore me thence, all for the nation’s good!
Sir Windbag (striking his manly breast):
I, too, inherent qualities possess
Which caused those mental eyes to hunt me out!
Francos:
But, gentlemen, this state is honeycombed
With treason dark unto the pow’rs that be.
Even our party men, with cold disdain,
Look on our policy with covert sneer.
Some few there are who grovel in the mire,
But most deport themselves with silent mien;
These should be watched, and when the moment comes
Where opportunity her hand extends,
We should her aid accept, and lop those heads
Which placed on shoulders square with spine erect
Dare in the privacy of social life
To breathe disloyalty to us who rule.
Sir Windbag:
Ah, sire, sweet music to mine ears thy words
Do make. Within my university
Some loyal souls have in epistles sweet
Breathed loyalty. Such should the passport be.
And if this document cannot be shown
It were sure proof that in the rebel heart
Treason doth lurk and only hides its head
To firmly hold position, at our hands.
Francos:
But, Windbag, dost thou not perceive that the
Vile press, which here opinion seems to form,
Would placard on its pages with great glee
That civil service hath been swept aside?
No! we must, with the Indian’s guile, our track
Cover insinuatingly, and wise.
But vigilance should be our slogan now
That we may spy out each disloyal rogue.
Col. Toady:
This civil service is a brittle shield
When pure Democracy doth wield the sword,
And were it strong, the rebel that it guards
Can be unhorsed by stabbing in the back.
Francos:
O happy thought! within my secret heart
I long have cherished it. Now to your posts—
And for the conflict buckle on the sword.
Disloyalty to Tinio avenge!
Sir Higgs:
While I’ll take little part in this crusade,
Still it doth pleasure me most mightily
When I reflect that every head lopped off
Affords much joy to some good Democrat.
’Twere wise to little say unto the mob
For it each idle word will subtile twist,
But smile, and smile, yet keep the guillotine
Well oiled and ready for its cleaning work.
All sing with great gust except Sir Higgs who beats time with a baton presented by the Secretary of War:
“We’re living in a hotbed of sedition;
These “rats” have been infected by tradition.
If we can’t smoke them out
And give our friends a place,
We’ll plug the rat holes up
And thus we’ll save our face,
Hence we must wage the battle stern and hearty;
These posts must serve as flagstaffs for our party.”
All Shout:
“Hip, Hip, Hurrah! Hip, Hip, Hurrah!! Hip, Hip, Hurrah!!!
and a
Tammany Tiger!”
Old Fogy.