Imágenes de páginas

and then indignantly turning on his heel, addressed himself to the grave Alabamian, to the following purport:

"Well, I'll be if that is not a burning disgrace, which no decent white man can tolerate. Isn't that nigger regiment too great an insult?"

The Alabamian jumped to his feet, and replied, while his eyes flashed fire:

"Sir, there is not a negro in that regiment who is not a better man than a rebel to this Government, and for whom I have not a thousand times more respect than I have for a traitor to his country. I think that the best possible use the Government can make of negroes is to take them and make them fight against the rebels. No traitor is too good to be killed by a negro, no weapon too severe to be used against the wretches who are endeavoring to overthrow the Government Now, air, swallow that, whether you like it or not."

The rebel darted off in utter amazement, without uttering a syllable of reply, leaving the sturdy Alabamian, who cherished the jewel of patriotism as something more precious than flocks of slaves, "alone in his glory."

Air— Yankee Manufacture.


Come, gather round, my Yankee boys,

And listen to my ditty:
I'll tell you all about old Longstreet's

Visit to this city.
And how the Rebs around him flocked

While he made a long oration,
Saying: "Boys, we'll drive the Yankees out,

And run them like tarnation."
Charm.—So pass the grog, and drink unto
The Union's preservation;
Old Longatreet and his rebel crew
Are running like tarnation.

Says he: "My boys, on our success

Our fate depends, by thunder 1
And if we meet with a defeat,

Our government's gone under.
So charge upon their raw recruit*

Without procrastination:
We'll make them fly to wooden hams,

To save them from starvation 1"

But little did old Longstreet know

The boys he had to meet him;
They fought on old Virginia's soil,

At Bull Run and Antietam.
The Western boys from Illinois

And Buckeyes wont knock under;
And Yankee steel, it made them squeal,

And Old Kentuck, by thunder t

The rebels made a bold advance,

To bag us they intended;
And up the hill on double-quick

The chivalry ascended.

• Previous to the charge on Port Sanders, Tennessee, Longstreet harangued his men, told them that the regiments before them were nine months' men, and promised them an easy victory. But the reception the attacking party met with, soon convinced them that they had veterans to deal with, and their consternation was increased when they learned that this warm reception came from old antagonists—the tried battalions of the Ninth army corps.

Our battery's fire, and Burnside's wire,
It caused them for to stumble,

And head o'er heels, into the ditch,
Like "bull-frogs" they did tumble,

Our boys did quickly on them pile,

Amid their great confusion,
Resolved that they should pay the cost

For such a bold intrusion;
And if, my friends, I have received

The proper information,
The rebs will never charge again

That charged on that occasion.'

But finding in our "raw recruits"

They sadly were mistaken, The rebs they soon picked up their traps,

And left, to save their bacon 1 Now Knoxville's free from chivalry,

And Wolford's in his saddle: He swears outright he'll make them fight,

Or quickly to skedaddle I Chorut.—So pass the grog, and drink nnto The Union's preservation; Old Longstreet and his rebel crew Are running like tarnation!


'The day had been one of dense mists and rains, and mnch of General Hooker's battle was fought above the clouds, which concealed him from our view, but from which his musketry was heard."—General Meigs to Secretary Stanton.

By the banks of Chattanooga watching with a soldier's

heed, In the chilly autumn morning, gallant Grant was on

his steed: For the foe had climbed above him with the banners

of their band, And the cannon swept the river from the hills of


Like a trumpet rang his orders: "Howard, Thomas,

to the bridge! One brigade aboard the Dunbar I Storm the heights

of Mission Ridge, On the left the ledges, Sherman, charge and hurl the

rebels down! Hooker, take the steeps of Lookout and the slopes

before the town I"

Fearless, from the northern summits, looked the traitors, where they lay.

On the gleaming Union army, marshalled as for muster-day,

Till the sudden shout of battle thundered upward its alarms,

And they dropped their idle glasses in a hurried rush to arms.

Then together up the highlands, surely, swiftly, swept the lines,

And the clang of war above them swelled with loud and louder signs,

Till the loyal peaks of Lookout in the tempest seemed to throb,

And the star-flag of our country waved in smoke on Orchard Knob.

Day, and night, and day returning, ceaseless shock and

ceaseless change, Still the furious mountain conflict burst and burned

along the range,

While with battle's cloud of sulphur mingled densely

mist and rain, Till the ascending squadrons vanished from the gazers

on the plain.

From the boats upon the river, from the tents upon

the shore, From the roofs of yonder city anxious eyes the clouds

explore: But no rift amid the darkness shows them father,

brother, sons. While they trace the viewless struggle by the echo of

the guns.

Upward! charge for God and country! up! Aha! they rush, they rise,

Till the faithful meet the faithless in the never-clouded skies,

And the battlefield is bloody where a dew-drop never falls,

For a voice of tearless justice to a tearless vengeance calls.

And the heaven is wild with shouting; fiery shot and

bayonet keen Gleam and glance where freedom's angels battle in the

blue serene. Charge and volley fiercely follow, and the tumult in

the air Tells *f right in mortal grapple with rebellion's strong


They have conquered! God's own legions I Well

their foes might be dismayed, Standing in his mountain temple 'gainst the terrors of

bis aid; And the clouds might fitly echo paean loud and parting

gun When from upper light and glory sank the traitor

host, undone.

They have conquered! Througn the region where our brothers plucked the palm,

Rings the noise in which they won it with the sweetness of a psalm;

And our wounded, sick, and dying, hear it in their crowded wards,

Till they know our cause is Heaven's and our battle is the Lord's.

And our famished captive heroes locked in Richmond's prison-hells

List those guns of cloudland booming glad as freedom's morning bells,

Lift their haggard eyes, and panting, with their cheeks against the bars,

Feci God's breath of hope, and see it playing with the Stripes and Stars,

Tories, safe in serpent-treason, startle as those airy

cheers, And that wild, ethereal war-drum, fall like doom upon

their ears; And that rush of cloud-borne armies, rolling back the

nation's shame, Frights them with its sound of judgment and its flash

of angry flame.

Widows weeping by their firesides, loyal hearts despondent grown,

Smile to hear their country's triumph from the gate of heaven blown,

And the patriot poor shall wonder, in their simple hearts to know

In the land above the thunder, their embattled champions go.

T. B.

Attack On Thi Ironsides: Charleston Courier Account.—One of the most daring and gallant naval exploits of the war, distinguished by the greatest coolness, presence of mind, and intrepidity of the brave men associated in the enterprise, was performed Monday night. This was no less than an attempt to blow np the United States steamer New Ironsides, lying off Morris Island. Though not fully meeting the expectations of those who conceived the plan, and those who carried it into execution, it has called forth the unbounded admiration of our citizens for the brilliant heroism of the actors in their dangerous but patriotic and self-sacrificing undertaking. A general feeling of deep anxiety prevails to learn the fate of two of the gallant spirits who went out with the expedition. There is every reason to believe, however, that tliese gallant men, with the means of safety about their persons, endeavored to reach shore, and have been picked up by some of the enemy's launches. We gather the following particulars from other participants in the affair:

The torpedo steamer David, with a crew of four volunteers, consisting of Lieutenant Wm. T. Glassell, J. H. Toombs, chief engineer, and James Sullivan, fireman of the gunboat Chicora, with J. W. Cannon, assistant pilot of the gunboat Palmetto State, left South Atlantic wharf between six and seven o'clock on Monday evening, for the purpose of running out to the Ironsides, exploding a torpedo under that vessel near amidships, and if possible blow her np.

The weather being dark and hazy, favored the enterprise. The boat, with its gallant little crew, proceeded down the harbor, skirting along the shoals on the inside of the channel until nearly abreast of their formidable antagonist, the New Ironsides.

They remained in this position for a short time, circling around on the large shoal near the anchorage of the object of their visit. Lieutenant Glassell, with a double-barrelled gun, sat in front of Pilot Cannon, who had charge of the helm. Chief Engineer Toombs was at the engine, with the brave and undaunted Sullivan, the volunteer fireman, when something like the following conversation ensued:

Lieutenant Glassell—" It is now nine o'clock. Shall we strike her?"

Pilot Cannon—" That is what wo came for. I am ready."

Engineer Toombs—" Let us go at her then, and do our best."

Sullivan, fireman—" I am with you all, and waiting. Go ahead."

The boat was now put bow on, and aimed directly for the Ironsides. As the little steamer darted forward, the lookout on the Ironsides hailed them with: "Take care there, you will run into us. What steamer is that?" Lieutenant Glassell replied by discharging one barrel at the Yankee sentinel, and tendering the gun to Pilot Cannon, told him there was another Yankee, pointing to one with his body half over tho bulwarks, and asked Cannon to take care of him with the other barrel.

The next moment they had struck the Ironsides and exploded the torpedo about fifteen feet from the keel, on the starboard Bide. An immense volume of water was thrown up, covering our little boat, and going through the smoke-stack, entered the furnace, completely extinguishing the fires.

In addition to this, pieces of the ballast had fallen in the works of the engine, rendering it unmanageable at that time. Volley after volley of musketry from the crew of the Ironsides and from the launches began to pour in upon them. Lieuteuant Glassell gave the order to back, but it was found impossible. In this condition, with no shelter, and no hope of escape, they thought it best to surrender, and hailed the enemy to that effect. The Yankees, however, paid no attention to the call, but barbarously continued the fire. It was then proposed to put on their life-preservers, jump overboard, and endeavor to swim to the shore. All but Tilot Cannon consented. The latter, being unable to swim, said he would stay and take his chances in the boat. Lieutenant Glassell, Engineer Toombs, and Sullivan the fireman, left the boat. The first two having on life-preservers, and the latter supporting himself on one of the hatches thrown to him by the pilot. Engineer Toombs becoming embarrassed with his clothing in the water, got back to the boat, and was assisted in by Cannon.

The boat was then rapidly drifting from the Ironsides. He now fortunately found a match, and lighting a torch, crept back to the engine, discovered and removed the cause of its not working, and soon got it in order. Engineers Toombs and Cannon reached their wharf in the city about midnight, fatigued, and presenting a worn-out appearance, but rejoicing at their fortunate and narrow escape.

With regard to the damage of the Ironsides nothing positive is known. At the moment of striking there was great consternation on board. It was reported that the crew in gangs were hard at work at the pumps all day yesterday. Small boats were seen constantly passing between the Ironsides and the Monitors. At nightfall, however, she remained at her old anchorage. ,

IscinENTS At Natchez.—Sitting at General Ransom's headquarters the other day, I saw a gray-haired man, bent with age, coming feebly up to the porch. He asked if he might come in.

"Certainly, sir, if you have any business here."

He came tottering in, and stated his business to an aid. He wished to enlist in the United States army!

"But you are too old."

"I am only sixty."

"But you are too feeble."

"I think I could drive a team or cook. I have come thirty-three miles on a straight line to see you, and I wish to live and die with you. These Secession devils out yonder have just worried my life out of me —bothered me, cursed me, stole me poor, tried to force mc into the rebel servi e; swear they will force me in yet. That's a pretty flag over the porch. I haven't seen that flag in many a weary day. I saw it in Jackson's time in the war of 1812."

The old man was assured of protection without enlistment, and went on his way.

Our troops here arc under very strict orders in regard to marauding, and I have as yet heard of no great injury being done to private property. Now and then a peach-tree suffers, or a watermelon " perishes everlastingly," but on the whole the discipline of the soldiers in this respect is good. Those who complain that an army is not perfectly virtuous, must remember that ten thousand men represent the male

adult population of a city of fifty thousand souls, and in what city of that size do you find complete freedom from crime? And so far as quiet stealing goes, the soldier gets alarmingly skilful. "Strategy, my boy," becomes an element of his larcenies. It is a fact, I believe, that a party of the Fifth Kansas once stole a grave. How? you ask. In this way: Some members of the Second Wisconsin had to bury a comrade, and dug a grave for the solemn purpose. Some members of the Fifth Kansas, having the same melancholy office to perform for one of their deceased companions, watched a chance, and while the detail of the Second Wisconsin had gone for the Wisconsin corpso, took possession of the grave, and buried their own inanimate jayhawker therein. I call that the gravest offence, in its way, on record.

Mr. Brown, who had a lumber-yard in Natchez, and a beautiful residence under the hill, was a good deal astonished the other day by the rigors of war. The Federal Quartermaster sent down a detail with wagons to draw away some of this lumber. Mr. Brown fancied they came as purchasers.

"Some of this, Captain, is worth thirty dollars a thousand, some fifty dollars."

"Well," said the officer, "I guess I'll take some of the fifty-dollar sort. Load on, boys."

"But," said Brown, "it should be measured first."

And at this instant it dawned upon the mind of the man of boards that perhaps Uncle Sam, the oftended one, was seizing the lumber!

Another Snake Story.—Between the point of Lookout Mountain and Bridgeport, down the Valley of the Tennessee, lie twenty-five miles of dead mules, in one continuous string, the head of the first carcass lying on the "quarter-deck " of the one beyond him, and so on throughout the entire distance. Just imagine a convulsion of nature of sufficient magnitude to bury these remains as they now lie, and phancy the pheelinx of a future Agassiz, who, in his geological researches, strikes either of the termini, and attempts to exhume the entire "snake." Won't it knock the socks off the saurians of the diluvian period? Twenty-five miles of vertebra, with two pedal arrangements every three feet! What a bully sideshow for a future circus! It will probably be called "the old he-Copperhead of the Rebellion period "— admission ten cents — Peace Democrats half-price.— Chattanooga Gazette.

The Female Lieutenant.—The public will remember the numerous paragraphs published concerning one "Lieutenant Harry Buford," me Mrs. Williams, with a history romantic in war as that of Joan of Arc. Last summer the Lieutenant got into Castle Thunder, her sex not corresponding with the dashing uniform she wore. She was released, and went from Richmond to Chattanooga, where she joined General Bragg's army, got upon the staff of General A. P. Stewart, and for a time was employed in the secret service, effecting important arrests of spies, and doing some very daring things.

The other day she visited Richmond again, n°' as the gay Lieutenant, but in the garments more becoming her sex, and bearing the name of Mrs. Jeruth De Caulp, she having, in the interval, married an officer of the confederate States provisional army of that name, first obtaining a divorce from her first husband, Williams, who is in the army of General Grant.

In consideration of her services, the confederate government has commissioned Mrs. De Caulp with the rank of captain, and since her arrival in Richmond, she has drawn one thousand six hundred dollars back pay. She is now at the Ballard House, en roule for Georgia, and the home of her new husband.

The heroine of this sketch is a native of Mississippi, and a devoted Southern woman.—Richmond Examiiier, September 15, 1863.

Are New-zealanders Belligerents !—The London Daily New* published the following communication:

"Sir: We are at war with the New-Zealanders — we for empire, they for independence! What if President Lincoln recognize their belligerent rights? aud what if New-York capitalists take a New-Zealand loan—and if an American Laird furnish a New-Zealand Alabama, to be commissioned by a Maori lieutenant, and manned by British seamen from the naval reserve, and so on? Why not? and what then?

"I am, sir, etc., Nemesis."

A Rebel Preacher.—Mr. William Keen, a highly respectable citizen of Cumberland County, Ky., is an honored memberof the Methodist Church. The Rev. T. J. Moore, of Franklin, Simpson County, a wellknown Methodist preacher, was a chaplain in Morgan's band. It is difficult to understand what Morgan's band wanted of a chaplain, but very easy to understand that, if they did want one, Moore was exactly their man.

Thus Keen and Moore belong to the same church. Morgan's band, upon the occasion of their late advent into Kentucky, took possession of Keen's house, south of Cumberland River. Before retiring at night, Keen, courteously and in a Christian-like manner, asked Moore to pray. Moore consented, and offered up a fervent prayer, Keen occasionally responding "Amen." Near the close of the prayer, the rebel parson prayed for the success of the rebel cause, and, in a loud voice, asked God that, if necessary to the success of the rebellion, he would "strike dead every man, woman, and child in the United States." Keen, unable to stand so much, exclaimed in a voice to which God and all his angels might listen, "No, Lord, don't do that— the prayer is unchristian ;" and he repeated the exclamation several times. It created an excitement among the rebel officers present; but, to their honor be it said, they rebuked, not Keen, but their own chaplain.

This, as we have said, was on the south bank of Cumberland River. At a house on the north side, Moore said to a gentleman in the presence of his family, that he wished the last Union man was in hell, and added that he himself had a right to take a portion of the property of every Union man in the land. That pseudo-reverend scoundrel is now at Camp Chase. He has full possession of a nook or corner of that Federal establishment, aud we guess it is the last Federal property that he is likely ever to " hold, occupy, and possess." Probably the best men in the world are preachers—and the worst.



No adulation shall the poet bring,
Nor o'erwrought picture of thy excellence;

But, taught by Truthfulness, shall simply sing
The passing worth of cheerful common-sense;

Shall call thy honesty a priceless gem,

Thy patience beautiful, thy faith sublime; Thy gentle nature let the harsh condemn,

just heaven's reward is in the hand of time. Work on, amidst the nation's wild turmoil,

The day of triumph brightens up the sky; The tree of peace springs up from roots* of toil,

Its leaves shall sweetly crown thee by and by. Smile on, amidst thy care, 0 Freedom's friend! The People's heart is with thee to the end.


In the ranks of the sick and dying, in the chamber

where death-dews fall, Where the sleeper wakes from his trances to leap

to the bugle-call, Is there hope for the wounded soldier f Ah! no,

for his heart-blood flows, And the flickering flame of life must wane, to fail

at the evening's olose.

0 thou who goest, like a sunbeam, to lighten the

darkness and gloom! Make way for his path of glory, through the dim

and shadowy room; Go speak to him words of comfort and teach him

the way to die, With his eyes upraised from the starry flag to the

blessed cross on high.

And tell him brave hearts are beating, with pulses

as noble as thine; That we count them at home by the thousands—

thou sweetest sister of mine— That they fail not and flinch not from duty, while

the vials of wrath are outpoured, And tell him to call it not grievous, but joyous to

fall by the sword.

When the hosts of the foe are outnumbered, and

the day of the Lord is at hand, Shall we halt in the heat of the battle, and fail at

the word of command? Oh! no; through the trouble aud anguish, by the

terrible pathway of blood, We must bear up the flag of our freedom, on—on

through the perilous flood!

And if one should be brought faint and bleeding,

though wounded, yet not unto death, Oh! plead with the soft airs of heaven, to favor his

languishing breath, Be faithful to heal and to save him, assuaging the

fever and pains, Till the pulse in his strong arm be strengthened,

and the blood courses free in his veins.

Then take the good sword from its scabbard, and front his pale face to the foe,

And bid him march onward, unconquered, though, stricken again, he lie low;

He shall see in the dream of his slumber, he shall know in his soul's swift release,

That the heralds afar on the mountains come bearing the lilies of peace.

When the blood of the Old Dominion shall lie trod

in its pride to the dust, When her swords and her traitorous banners are

consumed by the moth and the rust,

When the gold and the purple lie tarnished, and the light is gone out in her halls,

And she sees the last slave, freed from fetters, walk out by her pitiful walls;

Though late comes the signal of promise, when the horse and the rider shall reel,

And slow with the hope of the ages, comes the roll of God's chariot-wheel;

Yet sure as God's heaven above us, on the glittering scroll shall be read, "The days of thy kingdom are numbered," and our last armed foe shall be dead.


Supposed to be written by General John Morgan, on surveying his solitary abode In his ceil, in toe Ohio Penitentiary at Columbus.

I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute;

Naked walls, a stone floor, a tin tray,

Iron spoon, checkered pants and clean suit.

I am out of Jeff Davis's reach,
I must finish my journey in stone,

Never hear a big secession speech—
I start at the sound of my own.

0 solitude! strange are the fancies
Of those who see charms in thy face;

Better dwell in the midst of the Yankees,
Than reign in this horrible place.

Ye steeds that hare made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate cell
Some cordial, endearing report

Of the thefts I have practised so well.

Horse-stealing, bridge-burning, and fight,

Divinely bestowed upon man;
Oh! had I the wings of a kite,

How soon would I taste you again 1

My sorrows I then might assuage

In the work of destruction and raiding;

Might laugh at the wisdom of age,
Nor feel the least pang of upbraiding.

Rebellion 1 what music untold

Resides in that heavenly word I
It helps me to silver and gold,

And all that the earth can afford.

But the sweet sound of burning and plunder
These prison-walls never yet heard,

Never echoed the chivalry's thunder,
Nor mocked at the Union's grand bird.

How fleet is a glance of the mind

Compared with the speed of my flight;

But Shackelford came up behind,
So I found 'twas no use to fight.

The Buckeyes that gave me a race,

My form with indifference see;
They are so light of foot on the chase,

Their coolness is shocking to me.

When I think of my dear native land,
I confess that I wish I was there;

Confound these hard stone walls at hand,
And my bald pate, all shaven of hair.

My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me?

Like Burbeck, that quick-coming friend f
For a friend in need truly was he.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her rest,
The beast is laid down in his loir;

Yet not like John Morgan unblest,
As I to my straw bed repair.



As Moses stood upon the flaming hill,

With all the people gathered at nis feet,

Waiting in Sinai s valley, there to meet

The awful bearer of Jehovah's will;

So, Grant, thou stand'st, amidst the trumpets shrill,

And the wild fiery storms that flash and beat

In iron thunder and in leaden sleet,

Topmost of all, and most exposed to ill.

Oh! stand thou firm, great leader of our race,

Hope of our future, till the time grows bland,

And into ashes drops war's dying brand!

Then let us see thee, with benignant grace,

Descend thy height, God's glory on thy face,

And the law's tables safe within thy hand.


On the night of October twenty-eighth, 1868, when General Geary's division of the Twelfth Corps repulsed the attacking forces of Longstreet at Wauliatchie, Tenn., a number of mules, affrighted by the noise of battle, dashed into the ranks of Hampton's Legion, causing much dismay among the rebels, and compelling many of them to fall back under a supposed charge of cavalry.

Captain Thomas H. Elliott, of General Geary's staff, gives the following rendition of the incident, which he gleaned from an interior contemporary. Its authorship is not known:

Half a mile, half a mile,

Haifa mile onward, Right toward the Georgia troops, Broke the two hundred. "Forward the Mule Brigade," "Charge for the Rebs !" they neighed; Straight for the Georgia troops Broke the two hundred.

"Forward, the Mule Brigade I" Was there a mule dismayed? Not when the long ears felt

All their ropes sundered; Theirs not to make reply; Theirs not to reason why; Theirs but to make them fly. On 1 to the Georgia troops,

Broke the two hundred.

Mules to the right of them,
Mules to the left of them,
Mules behind them,

Fawed, neighed, and thundered.

« AnteriorContinuar »