THE COLOR SERGEANT.

BY A. D. F. RANDOLPH.

You say that in every battle

No soldier was braver than he,
As, aloft in the roar and the rattle,
He carried the flag of the free:

I knew, ah! I knew he'd ne'er falter,
I could trust him, the dutiful boy.
My Robert was wilful-but Walter,
Dear Walter, was ever a joy.

And if he was true to his mother,

Do you think he his trust would betray,
And give up his place to another,

Or turn from the danger away?
He knew while afar he was straying,
He felt in the thick of the fight,
That at home his poor mother was praying
For him and the cause of the right!
Tell me, comrade, who saw him when dying,
What he said, what he did, if you can;
On the field in his agony lying,

Did he suffer and die like a man?
Do you think he once wished he had never
Borne arms for the right and the true?
Nay, he shouted Our Country forever!

When he died he was praying for you!
O my darling! my youngest and fairest,
Whom I gathered so close to my breast;
I called thee my dearest and rarest,

And thou wert my purest and best! I tell you, O friend! as a mother, Whose full heart is breaking to-day, The Infinite Father-none other

Can know what he's taken away!

I thank you once more for your kindness,
For this lock of his auburn hair:
Perhaps 'tis the one I in blindness

Last touched, as we parted just there!

When he asked, through his tears, should he linger
From duty, I answered him, Nay:
And he smiled, as he placed on my finger
The ring I am wearing to-day.

I watched him leap into that meadow;
There, a child, he with others had played;
I saw him pass slowly the shadow

Of the trees where his father was laid;
And there, where the road meets two others,
Without turning he went on his way:
Once his face toward the foe-not his mother's
Should unman him, or cause him delay.
It may be that some day your duty
Will carry you that way again;
When the field shall be riper in beauty,
Enriched by the blood of the slain;
Would you see if the grasses are growing
On the grave of my boy? Will you see
If a flower, e'en the smallest, is blowing,
And pluck it, and send it to me?
Don't think, in my grief, I'm complaining;
I gave him, God took him, 'tis right;
And the cry of his mother remaining

Shall strengthen his comrades in fight.
Not for vengeance, to-day, in my weeping,
Goes my prayer to the Infinite Throne.
God pity the foe when he's reaping
The harvest of what he has sown!

Tell his comrades these words of his mother:
All over the wide land to-day,

The Rachels who weep with each other,
Together in agony pray.

They know in their great tribulation,

By the blood of their children outpoured, We shall smite down the foes of the Nation, In the terrible day of the Lord.

THE FISHERMAN OF BEAUFORT.

BY MRS. FRANCES D. GAGE.

The tide comes up, and the tide goes down,
And still the fisherman's boat,

At early dawn and at evening shade,
Is ever and ever afloat:

His net goes down, and his net comes up,
And we hear his song of glee,

"De fishes dey hates de ole slave nets,
But comes to de nets of de free."

The tide comes up, and the tide goes down,
And the oysterman below

Is picking away, in the slimy sands,
In the sands ob de long ago:

But now if an empty hand he bears,
He shudders no more with fear,

There's no stretching board for the aching bones,
And no lash of the overseer.

The tide comes up, and the tide goes down,
And ever I hear a song,

As the moaning winds, through the moss-hung oaks, Sweep surging ever along.

"O massa white man! help de slave,

And de wife and chillen too,

Eber dey'll work, wid de hard worn hand,
Ef ell gib 'em de work to do."

The tide comes up, and the tide goes down,
But it bides no tyrant's word,

As it chants unceasing the anthem grand
Of its Freedom, to the Lord.

The fisherman floating on its breast
Has caught up the key-note true,
"De sea works, massa, for't sef and God,
And so must de brack man too.

"Den gib him* de work, and gib him de pay,
For de chillen and wife him love,

And de yam shall grow, and de cotton shall blow,
And him nebber, nebber rove;
For him love de ole Carlina State,
And de ole magnolia-tree:
Oh! nebber him trouble de icy Norf,
Ef de brack folks-am go free."

THE REVEILLE.

BY T. B. HART, OF SAN FRANCISCO.
Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands,
And of armed men the hum;
Lo! a Nation's hosts have gathered
Round the quick alarming drum-
Saying, "Come,
Freemen, come!

Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming

drum.

* The colored people use the word him for "us," and apply the same pronoun to animate and inanimate objects, whether of masculine, feminine, or neuter gender.

THE DEAD DRUMMER-BOY.

'Midst tangled roots that lined the wild ravine,

Where the fierce fight raged hottest through the day, And where the dead in scattered heaps were seen, Amid the darkling forest's shade and sheen, Speechless in death he lay.

The setting sun, which glanced athwart the place
In slanting lines, like amber-tinted rain,
Fell sidewise on the drummer's upturned face,
Where death had left his gory finger's trace
In one bright crimson stain.

The silken fringes of his once bright eye
Lay like a shadow on his cheek so fair;
His lips were parted by a long-drawn sigh,
That with his soul had mounted to the sky
On some wild martial air.

No more his hand the fierce tattoo shall beat,
The shrill reveille, or the long roll's call,
ar sound the charge, when in the smoke and heat
Of fiery onset, foe with foe shall meet,
And gallant men shall fall.

Yet may be in some happy home, that one,

A mother, reading from the list of dead,
Shall chance to view the name of her dear son,
And move her lips to say, "God's will be done!"
And bow in grief her head.

But more than this what tongue shall tell his story?
Perhaps his boyish longings were for fame;

He lived, he died; and so, memento mori-
Enough if on the page of War and Glory
Some hand has writ his name.

THE RED STAIN ON THE LEAVES. BY G. W. BUNGAY.

The wood-bird's nest upon the bough Deserted hangs, and heaped with leaves: Once filled with life and joy, but now

Sad as a stricken heart that grieves. Amid the light of such a scene,

Where silent vales and hills are clad In gayest hues of gold and green,

Why should the human heart be sad?
Yet sombre thoughts flit through the mind,
And pass unspoken and unsung,
As leaves, touched by the autumn wind,
Fall from the twigs to which they clung.
Here, like the patriarch in his dream,
We see the ladder angels trod,
The mountains to our vision seem
To lean against the throne of God.

The vales of golden mist that rise
Over the woodlands to the sea,
Drop where the gallant soldier lies,
Whose furlough is eternity.
Upon the leaves now sear and red,
That once were flakes of fire to me,
I see the blood our armies shed,
That our dear country might be free.

WAR SONG.

BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER.

With sword on thigh, "to do or die,"
I march to meet the foe;
A pirate band have cursed the land,
Then deal the deadly blow.

To Richmond on, and write upon
Her walls the words of doom;
Secession's horde from Freedom's sword
Deserves a bloody tomb.

Sound, bugle, sound! a rally round

The Star-flag of the Free;
Nursed by a flood of generous blood
Was Freedom's sacred tree.
Accursed by God in dust be trod
Rebellion's hellish horde;

The fiends to tame hearts are aflame
With cannon-peal and sword.

'Tis hard to leave the babes that grieve For a fond, absent sire;

His cherished wife, charm of his life,
To brave the battle's fire;

But duty calls, and loudly falls
Our war-cry on the ear;

Our banners wave above the brave-
Then on! and know not fear.

THE VOLUNTEER'S WIFE TO HER HUSBAND
Don't stop a moment to think, John,
Your country calls-then go;
Don't think of me or the children, John,

I'll care for them, you know.
Leave the corn upon the stalks, John,
Potatoes on the hill,

And the pumpkins on the vines, John-
I'll gather them with a will.

But take your gun and go, John,

Take your gun and go,

For Ruth can drive the oxen, John,
And I can use the hoe.

I've heard my grandsire tell, John,
(He fought at Bunker Hill,)
How he counted all his life and wealth

His country's offering still.

Shall we shame the brave old blood, John,
That flowed on Monmouth plain?
No! take your gun and go, John,

If you ne'er return again.

Then take your gun and go, etc.

Our army's short of blankets, John,
Then take this heavy pair;
I spun and wove them when a girl,
And worked them with great care.
There's a rose in every corner, John,
And there's my name you see;
On the cold ground they'll warmer feel
That they were made by me.
Then take your gun and go, etc.

And if it be God's will, John.

You ne'er come back again,

I'll do my best for the children, John,
In sorrow, want, and pain.
In winter nights I'll teach them all
That I have learned at school,
To love the country, keep the laws,
Obey the Saviour's rule.
Then take your gun and go, etc.

And in the village church, John,
And at our humble board,

We'll pray that God will keep you, John,
And heavenly aid afford;

And all who love their country's cause
Will love and bless you too,

And nights and mornings they will pray
For freedom and for you.
Then take your gun and go, etc.

And now good by to you, John—
I cannot say farewell;

We'll hope and pray for the best, John;
God's goodness none can tell.
Be his great arm around you, John,
To guard you night and day;
Be our beloved country's shield,
Till the war has passed away.
Then take your gun and go, etc.

The contest decided with peace to the nation;
My hero retired 'mid the loud acclamation
Of men without number, and praise without measure;
My own heart exulted in transports of pleasure.

O my happiness! O my happiness! O my happiness!
How precarious!

Our Freedom, with order, by Faction rejected,
A new Constitution our country erected;

My hero was raised to preside over the Union,
And his cares intercepted our blissful communion:

O my happiness! O my happiness! O my happiness!
How precarious!

Declining the trust of his dignified station,
With joy to the seat of his dear estimation,
Surrounded with honors, he humbly retreated;
Sweet hopes, softly whispered, my bliss was completed,
O my happiness! O my happiness! O my happiness!
How precarious!

When the pangs of disease had fatally seized him,
My heart would have yielded its life to have eased him;
I prayed the Most High if for death He designed him,
That he would not permit me to loiter behind him.
O my Washington! O my Washington! O my Wash-
ington!

All was dubious.

When I followed his corpse with grief unconfined,
And saw to the tomb his dear relics consigned,
When I left him in silence and darkness surrounded,
With what pangs of fresh anguish my bosom was
wounded.

O my Washington! O my Washington! O my Wash-
ington!
Has forsaken us!

His aspect so noble, pale grave-clothes disfigured,
And his conquering arm despoiled of its vigor;
On those lips, which dropped wisdom, is silence im-
posed,

And those kind, beaming eyes forever are closed.
O my Washington! O my Washington! O my Wash-
ington!

Has forsaken us!

THE REBELLION.

BY DAVID BARKER.

THERE'S a law of compensation,
And a law of retribution,
For each mortal and each nation,
And I've seen the plain solution.

If there's truth in the evangel,
Then the old recording angel,

By that law of compensation, And that law of retribution, (For I've seen the whole solution,)

Has a reckoning with this nation.

I have seen the primal entry
On the books beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever,
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover.

On a midnight dank and dreary,
When my form was weak and weary
Then my spirit left its dwelling,
Left it in another's keeping;
In the kind care of another,
Of a loving angel brother,
Who had left his earth-friends weeping,
And had crossed the river swelling,
But had found a passage over-
Found a backward passage over,
Through the dark bridge with the cover,
And had made another entry
On the shore this side the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover.

As my spirit made its entry
On the shore beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover,
There I met the writing angel
With his records all before him,
And a halo hanging o'er him,
With his books named in the evangel.

With an anxious, saddened feeling
Through my inner spirit stealing,
Turned I to the writing angel,
With his books named in the evangel,
Just to learn the situation

Of our struggling, bleeding nation;
Just to learn this from the entry
On the books beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover.

With a tear the angel said it:
"There's your debt and there's your credit-
Just inspect each primal entry
On the books this side the sentry,

Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river."

Turned I quick aside the cover,
And I glanced the pages over,
And I found the primal entry
On the books beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
Was before the old embargo,
When the Dutch ship with her cargo,
Ploughed her keel across our waters,
With her fettered sons and daughters,
'Twas a charge for "countless terrors,"
And the "middle passage horrors."

Then the next or second entry
On the books beyond the scntry,

Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover,
Was for "wails of wives and mothers,
And for sisters, fathers, brothers,
When the auction-hammer thundered
That all kindred ties were sundered."
Then the next and final entry
On the books beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover,
Was for "proceeds of the cargo,
Brought before the old embargo,"
And I found the angel had it,
With each mill of interest added-
But we pass now to the credit
As the writing angel had it.
Turned I then again the cover,
And I searched the pages over,
But I found no credit entry
On the books beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river;
Then I gave unto the angel
All his books named in the evangel,
When a deeper, saddened feeling
Came across my spirit stealing;
But the angel sternly said it-
"You shall have your honest credit."

"When your land is filled with terrors
Like the Middle Passage horrors,

All the horrors of each cargo Since the Dutch keel ploughed your waters, With her sable sons and daughters,

Long before the slave embargo:

"When your wails of wives and mothers,
Of your sisters, fathers, brothers,
Shall amount through all your slaughters
To the wails of sons and daughters,
Of the sable sons and daughters,
Since the auction-hammer thundered
That all human ties were sundered:

"When the proceeds of the cargo,
Brought before the old embargo-
When the proceeds as you had it,
With each mill of interest added,
Shall be squandered in your slaughters,
'Mid your wails of wives and daughters,
You will get your honest credit!"

Then he closed the opening cover,
When again I crossed the river,
By the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside that river;
Then my spirit sought its dwelling,
Left within a brother's keeping,
Of an angel brother's keeping,
When that brother left my dwelling,
And recrossed the river swelling,
From this land with sorrow laden,
To his better home in Aidenn.

EXETER, September, 1862.

INDE X.

A

PAGE

PAGE

D. 43

Union troops surprised at,
reconnoissance to,

D. 50

D. 68

D. 16
Antietam, Md., notice of the battle
of,
D. 2; Doc. 13, 220
an incident of,
loss of the Fiftieth Georgia at, P. 18
the trophies of,
P. 29
"Antona," account of the capture
of,
Doc. 845
An Union Soldier, no Abolitionist, P. 31
Apache Pass, N. M., rebel account
of the battle of,
P. 20
Apalachicola, Fla., account of the
Expedition to,
Doc. 186
P. 49
D. 38

Abbeville, Miss., fight near,

PAGE
D. 20
D. 21

evacuated by the rebels,
ABBOTT, T., Lieut. Com., report of
the fight off Charleston, Doc. 409
Abolitionist, a Union soldier, P. 31
"Abraham Lincoln," by W. D. Gal-
lagher,
P. 35
Accomac, Va., the slaves in, P. 17
Act for enrolling the National forces
passed,
D. 46, 49
ADAMS, CHARLES FRANCIS, D. 48, 76
ADAMS, GREEN, of Ky.,

D. 59
ADAMS, Major, First N. Y. Cavalry, D. 74
Adelaide, schooner, captured, D. 5
"Adventurer," schooner, captured,
D. 10
"Agnes," schooner, captured, D. 18
"Alabama," privateer captures by,
D. 1, 2, 3, 7, 8, 9, 11, 13, 23, 39,
48, 51, 61, 70, 77.

debate in the British House of
Commons on,

D. 58
Alabama, Governor Shorter's ap-
peal to the people of, Doc. 290
"Alabama," schooner, captured, D. 64
"Aldebaran," schooner, captured, D. 54
Aldie, Va., Union raid into,

ANDERSON, GEO. B., rebel, death of, D. 4
ANDERSON, Gen., rebel. See Chancel-
lorsville,
Doc. 599
ANDERSON, P., Gen., rebel, Doc. 170
ANDREW, JOHN A., Gov., authorized

to raise colored regiments, D. 36
ANDREWS, C. M., Major. See Hay-
market, Va.

A Song without a Title, by J. Fergu-

ANDREWS, JOHN W., Col., report of
the battle of Fredericksburgh,
Doc. 89
"A New Border State Song," by
Paul Siogvolk,
P. 12
A New Cassabianca, an incident of
the Harriet Lane,
P. 38
'Anglia," steamship, capture of,
Doc. 41

D. 26

D. 27
Gen. Hooker assumes command
of,
D. 89
crosses the Rappahannock, D. 68
operations of the Fifth, Eleventh,

and Twelfth corps of,

D. 69

second attempt of,

Doc. 896

D. 46

ARNOLD, FRANCIS,

D. 11

26

P. 18

Attorneys and War-Claim Agents,