The first inquiry made by the Fire Zouaves
on landing at Washington
, was, with grave-faced earnestness, “Can you tell us where Jeff. Davis
we're lookina for him.”
“Yes,” said another, “we're bound to hang his scalp in the White House
before we go back.”
Another one, whose massive under-jaw and breadth of neck indicated him “some in a plug muss,” remarked that they had expected to have arrived by the way of Baltimore
“We would have come through Baltimore
like a dose of salts,” he added, with an air of disappointment.
One of them beckoned a citizen, confidentially, to his side, and inquired, “Is there any secession flags about here?”
He was assured that secession bunting was an article that did not prevail there.
He nodded, and added, “I only wanted to know.”
On coming down the Avenue
, the Franklin Fire
Company reel passed them at a sharp run, on its way to a fire; and the familiar apparatus was saluted with such a yell of recognition along the entire line, as must have fairly astonished the staid old reel.
Somebody remarked to one of the b'hoys, that his hair was cut rayther
“Oh, yes,” was the reply, “we all had our heads filed
before we left New York.”
They all look like fighting boys; but one company seems to have a special prestige that way. “If there's any mischief done, lay it onto Company 68,” seemed to be a pet phrase amongst the b'hoys.
Some of the Zouaves, in emerging from their quarters (Columbian Market building) this morning, disdaining the tedious, common-place mode of exit by the stairway, let themselves down to the street from the third story by a rope, like so many monkeys.--Charleston Mercury, May 8