Democratic Standard

From the Mercury.

A TEXIAN HERO.

Many of our readers no doubt recollect the facetious comedian Jim Wills, who played in this city some years ago. He was a queer compound of human nature—a man who could with ease make others laugh, but seldom ever laughed himself—a melancholy man through life, which caused him to 'shuffle off this mortal coil,' ere half his race was run.

About the time the Texas excitement ran so high in the United States, Jim Wills in Pittsburgh, in that situation so common to play actors, viz: "flat broke." Standing one day on the wharf, with his serious visage expanded, planning how he should get down the river without money, when he heard a drum and fife. On looking around he saw a company of reckless looking, half uniformed soldiers about embarking for New Orleans, bearing a Texan banner. A thought struck him. Next day he sent his trunks on board the first boat to start, and just as the Captain was tapping the bell for the last time, Wills stepped on board, and dragged his trunks into an unoccupied state room, and took from his theatrical wardrobe a soldier's coat, with a buff breast and three rows of buttons, a chapeau with an immense plume, a red sash, a pair of military trowsers, a grizzly black wig, and a pair of false whiskers. By the time the boat had got fairly under way, Jim was fully equipped with his stage sword gracefully hanging by his side. Drawing his white gloves, he hesitated a moment, but relying on his peculiar powers, he opened the door, gave the usual military stoop, and walked into the cabin, which was filled with passengers. In a moment all eyes were directed toward him, but he walked up to the bar and drank a glass of brandy and water. In the meantime all was bustle and confusion to find out who the officer was. A general rush was made for the register, but he had not yet put down his name—the Captain was consulted but he knew nothing. At length, however, feeling a little curiosity himself, he walked up to Jim, and bowing politely to him said, 'Sir.'

'Sir to you,' said Wills, touching his chapeau a la militaire.

'Will you do me the favor to register your name, so that I can provide a state room for you?'

'Oh, with pleasure,' said Jim, and walking up to the register he flourished in round text.

'C. P. EDWARDS, Major, Texas Army.'

The crowd passed around the table—they read the name—universal enthusiasm prevailed, and three tremendous cheers were given for Texas and Liberty!

Jim took off his chapeau, acknowledged the compliment with a graceful bow, and a few patriotic remarks.

It is almost needless to say that from this moment the soi-disant Major was a lion. Every one sought to make his acquaintance—the ladies opened the cabin door to get a peep at him—he was placed at the head of the table—and at night he was made as drunk as Bacchus on champagne.

Next day he was promenading the hurricane deck, linked arm in arm, with the Captain, and a warm hearted southerner, who resided in Vicksburg.

'Major,' said the southerner, 'I know very well that you have been on a mission to collect arms, ammunition and recruits—but on that subject you must of course be mum, in consequence of the treaty between Mexico and the United States. For my part, I could see every d—d copper colored rascal hung, like dogs on trees!'

'Whatever my business may have been I find that I have exhausted all my means in the cause; in fact I fear that I shall not be able to pay my passage until I get to New Orleans.'

'Don't mention it,' said the Captain, 'I could not think of taking anything of you.'

'I have it,' said the southerner, 'come with me.'

The trio adjourned to the clerk's office, where a stirring appeal for aid to Texas was written. The southern gentleman carried it among the passengers, and collected $150 dollars, which was handed over to Wills. At night a grand supper was given at which speeches were made and toasts were drank. The cabin was decorated with the star spangled banner, entwined with the flag of the lone star, manufactured by the ladies for the occasion.

About 12 o'clock the company commenced singing songs, and at length the Major was called upon to favor the company with a song. He complied by favoring the company with his famous song of 'Billy Barlow.'

'Bravo!' said one.

'Excellent!' said another.

'Capital!' said a third.

'I could do it a d—d sight better,' said Jim, who was fast verging into the fourth stage of action, 'if I had the proper grog on.'

After giving three feint huzzas for Texas, the party broke up.

Next morning the clerk went into Will's state room to call him to breakfast. Imagine his surprise when he discovered that the Major had actually turned in all standing—with boots, chapeau and sword on, the feet snugly laid on the pillow.— He was a Texas Major, and of course no fault was found.

Thus things ran on, and Wills reached New Orleans in triumph. There he doffed his uniform, and returned to Vicksburg, where he got an engagement in the theatre. He became a great favorite—and when he was at the zenith of his glory, the old gentleman whom he met on the boat, went to the theatre. Between the pieces Wills sang Billy Barlow—the old fellow was bewildered—the afterpiece came on, and Wills appeared in the identical suit in which he had acted the Texas Major.

After the theatre let out, the old fellow sought an interview with Jim.

'You d—n rascal, I ought to shoot you, but the trick was so clever that I forgive you, so let us say no more about it.'

Jim looked at him a moment with serious expression, then replied, 'Man in his time plays many parts.'