Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

He was not used to so much labor,

And soon the poor old man broke down,
He found, alas! their boasted freedom
A cross and not a crown.

They made my poor boy, Phil, a soldier,
And took him from me far away;
He stood through many a bloody battle,
Was wounded often, many a day;
He did not wish to be a soldier,
He only wanted to be free-
They only loaded him with irons,
Or lashed him to a tree.

Before him once, in line of battle,

He saw our fine young master Jim,
Then dropped poor Phil his Yankee musket,
He could not, would not, fire on him;
For they had played, been raised together,
Young master Jim had cried for Phil-
The Yankees gave the onward order,
But my poor boy stood still.

And then his more than cruel masters,
White men, with hearts and deeds all black,
Struck him down with gun and sabre,

And left him dying on their track.
O missus! my old heart is broken,
My lot all grief and pain has been;

For little Judy, too, is ruined,

In their dark camps of sin.

O Massa William! see me kneeling,
O Missus! say one word for me!

You'll let me stay? Oh! thank you massa;
Now I'm happy! now I'm free!

I've seen enough of Yankee freedom,
I've had enough of Yankee love!
As they have treated the poor negro,
Be't done to them above.

CONFEDERATE SONG OF FREEDOM.

BY EMILY M. WASHINGTON,

March on, ye children of the brave,

Descendants of the free!

On to the hero's bloody grave

Or glorious Liberty!

On, on-with clashing sword and drum,
The foe-they come! they come !-strike
home,

For more than safety, or for life,
For more than mother, child, or wife,
Strike home for Liberty!

Charge, charge! nor shed the pitying tear,
Too long hath mercy plead!
Charge, charge! and share the hero's bier,
Or strike the foeman dead!

Charge, charge! for more than vital gains,
Strike home and rend the freeman's chains,
For more than safety, or for life,
For more than mother, child, or wife,
Strike home for Liberty!

Draw, draw-by every hope this hour
That animates the brave!
Draw!-strike !-and rend the foeman's power
Or fill the patriot's grave!

Strike die or conquer with the free,
Strike home, strike home, for Liberty-

For more than glory, safety, life,
For more than mother, child, or wife,
Strike home for Liberty!

OUR MONEY.

Our treasury is furnished with rags,
So thick even Jeff cannot thin 'em.
Jeff's torn up his old money bags,

Having nothing like cash to put in 'em.
Our farmers are smashed up by dozens,
But this is all nothing they say;
For bankrupts, since Adam, are cousins,
But 'tis all in a family way.

Our debts not a shilling take from us,
As statesmen the matter explain;
Bob owes it to Tom, and then Thomas
Just owes it to Bob back again.
Since all thus have taken to owing,
There's nobody left that can pay;
And that is the way we keep going,
All just in a family way.

Our congressmen vote away millions

To put in the huge Southern budget, And if it were billions or trillions,

The generous rogues would not grudge it. 'Tis naught but a family hop,

And Jeff began dancing they say

Hands round! Why the deuce should we stop? 'Tis all in a family way.

Our rich cotton-planters all tumble

The poor ones have nothing to chew,
And if they themselves do not grumble,
Their stomachs undoubtedly do.
For sure to be hungry en famille,

Is as good for the soul as to pray,
And famine itself is but genteel

When one starves in a family way.

But I've found out a secret for Jeffy-
A secret for next budget-day-
Though he spurn my advice in a jiffy,
As he too's a sage in his way:
When next for the treasury scene, he
Announces the devil to pay,
Just write on the bill, nota bene,
For it's all in a family way.

A.D. 1868.

CONFED.

SPECIMENS OF "SOUTHERN LITERATURE."-There are some signs that "the South"-meaning by that the slave-drivers and woman-whippers, who so long claimed this name for themselves will presently have something of "a literature of its own." "The Parisians have just been edified with a work on "The Condition of the Confederate States," by one Charles Girard, "formerly Secretary of the Smithsonian Institute, Washington." To give his book an apparent importance and character, Dr. Girard has addressed it, as a memoir or report, to the Emperor Napoleon, though it nowhere appears that he was commissioned or requested to make any report of any kind to the Emperor.

The value of this writer's report may be gathered from the following remarkable "incident" which he relates:

"I one evening, at General Cooper's, heard the Gov. ernor of North-Carolina tell how, in their numerous incursions into his State, the enemy carried off, by force,

whole families of negroes; that on several occasions, being surrounded at the moment of embarkation by the local militia, the negroes took the opportunity of escaping to return to their masters, and that then the Yankees turned their fury on the negro children, whom they tore from their mothers' arms and flung into the water. On other occasions they drowned the negroes by wholesale when they resisted the attempt to carry them off.

"The Yankees exercised similar cruelty on the whites. In one detachment of prisoners, of whom a great part were ill of small-pox, caught in the miserable huts in which they had been lodged, they amused themselves with fastening them two and two, a sick man to a healthy one, to spread the disease; and then, when the disease reached its height, they would throw them overboard with loud cheers."

A DISINTERESTED PATRIOT.-A Boston journal, quoting the allusion of another paper to the fact that Mr. Whiting, Solicitor of the War Department, worked without pay, says:

The statement that," Mr. Whiting is a rich man, and can afford to do all he has magnanimously agreed to," somewhat detracts from the merit of the sacrifice he has actually made. We happen to know that upon entering the service of the Government he was compelled to reduce his establishment here, which had been supported by a princely income from his profession, and practise the economy which many wealthy men who claim to be patriots only preach.

"I am sorry to see you fall into the mistake of calling Yanks Federals,' and of talking of Northern news.' Northern and Southern are very well, as allusive to different sections of our Confederacy, or one country; but they are expressions calculated to mi3lead when applied to countries so entirely distinct as our Confederacy and the 'Yank country.' Let, then, the term 'Yank' be applied to that seething mass of Vandalism that blindly drives forward for our subjugation, utterly ignoring the principles of the government formerly established over them, and utterly regardless of those grand landmarks with which alone all good practical popular governments can consist. Let it be 'Yank States,'' Yank people,'' Yank navy,' etc., etc., Yank flag,' etc., etc., 'a Yank,' 'Yanks,' etc., etc. "Z."

[ocr errors]

BARBARITIES OF THE REBELS.-A correspondent of the Chattanooga Gazette furnished the following horrible account of rebel cruelties practised upon an Alabama Unionist:

In 1861 a Unionist was forcibly arrested by a mob at his house in Randolph county, Ala., and marched off in an adjoining thicket; the mob here rifled him of his pocket-book, boots and coat, tied him, and held a consultation to determine his fate. It was soon determined to "put him in the tories' yoke," but first of all to try to make him acknowledge to having done and said things of which he was innocent.

After trying some time to accomplish their object, by questioning and threatening, they resorted to more severe measures. Untying him, they took off his clothing, laid him down upon a log, lashed him firmly to it, him. Four let in on him at once, and the number soon and with large hickory switches commenced lacerating increased to six. They continued to beat him there for a long time, pausing occasionally and asking him if he would confess, and upon his refusing would let in on

HOW THE REBELS BRAND.-Branding deserters, as performed at Castle Thunder in Richmond, is described as a beautiful operation, and as humane as beautiful. The culprit is fastened to a large table, with his face downward, and a large "D" scarred on his posteriors. A plain bar of iron, about an inch in diameter, narrowed down a little at the point, is heated to incan-him more vigorously. descence, and used as a sign-painter would use his brush in lettering, only in a very slow and bungling manner. A greasy smoke with a sickly stench arises, accompanied with crackling sounds and the groans of the victim as the hot iron sinks deep into the flesh. pretence of rendering the mark of disgrace plain and indelible, but in reality to torture the unfortunate culprit, the hot iron is drawn many times through the wound, making it larger and deeper, until the victim, unable to endure the excruciation longer, faints, and is carried away. The operation is always performed by old Keppard, the executioner of Kellogg, the greatest demon in human form outside of Pluto's realms.Louisville Journal, January 12.

CONCERNING "YANKS."

On

The following letter appeared in a number of the Charleston Courier:

"To the Editors of the Charleston Courier:

[ocr errors]

"I agree with you in the main in the remarks you make in your issue of the fourteenth, in relation to your use of the terms Yankee' and 'Yankeedom.' But as we ought to have a descriptive designation of that people that can give no offence to the many worthy and true men amongst us of Yankee birth, I propose that we as a people adopt the term 'Yank' for our insane enemies; so that we may talk of the Yank Government,' "Yank army,'' Yank Congress,' 'Yank news,' etc., etc. It is short, contemptuous, and descriptive of the thing signified.

The blood trickled from his back in streams. His piteous appeals in behalf of mercy were totally disre Nature finally yielded, and the poor man swooned and was lost to consciousness for several garded. minutes. As soon as he revived, these hellish tormentors resumed their tortures. They split the ends of green sticks, and twisting them in his hair, and pulling violently caused the most excruciating pain. This and other fiendish operations were continued for some time. They then cut off his fingers at the second joint, as also his ears, close up to his head.

and the legs at the knees. After this operation the The next step was to cut off his arms at the elbows, wretched victim fainted, and failing to recover for several minutes, the murderers pronounced him dead and began to prepare to leave, but at this moment their victim showed signs of life.

They now tied a rope around his neck, and hung him to a limb near by, and instantly decamped, leaving him suspended between the heavens and the earth.

The third day afterward the body was discovered, taken down, and decently interred by friends.

Mr. Editor, this no myth, 'tis no exaggeration. It is worthy of remark that it is an impossibility to belie a rebel, unless you say he is honest, a gentleman, or a humane being.

At the time of the above murder I was engaged in school-teaching in Calhoun county, not more than twenty-five miles from the murdered man's house, and I took considerable pains to find out all about the matter. You have the result, Scout.

SHERMAN'S FLANK MOVEMENTS.-General Sherman's strategy in flanking the rebels out of their strong positions, puzzles the natives a good deal. A young woman said it was not fair to fight the Southern soldiers "on end." She then went on to say that the day before General Bragg had formed "two streaks of fight" in their door-yard with "walking soldiers," and General Wheeler formed "one streak of fight with critter soldiers"-meaning cavalry-behind the house, but that Joe Hooker had come up and flanked Bragg, and made him fall back, which he did in such a hurry, that he "upset dad's ash-hopper plant," which cost two dollars and fifty cents in Atlanta; and "dad was a-goin' to sue Bragg for waste." This a fair specimen of the way these poor people think and talk. They do not generally display half the intelligence the slaves do.

THE DRUMMER-BOY OF THE EIGHTH MICHIGAN
INFANTRY.

riably, on every pay-day, he sent his money to his widowed mother. None of the vices of the camp clung to him, and amid the profane and drunken and vulgar, he moved, without assoiling the whiteness of his young soul. His teacher and Captain guarded him like a father; he shared his bed and board with Charlie, and the two loved one another with an affection so unusual that it was everywhere the subject of comment.

By and by we hear of the fearless little fellow, small beyond his years, on the battle-field with the surgeon, where the grape and canister were falling like hail around them, pressing forward to the front, during an engagement, with the hospital flag in his hand, to aid in the care of the wounded. Only a peremptory order from a superior officer was able to turn him back to the rear, and there, when the wounded were brought in, he worked all night, and the next day, carrying water and bandages and lint, and lighting up the sorrowfulness of the hour by his boyish but unfailing kindness. Never was he more serviceable than durCharles Howard Gardner was a school-boy thirteen ing a battle. At the terrible battle of James's Island, and a half years old, in the city of Flint, Michigan, in an assault on the fort, his beloved Captain, always when the war commenced. His father was connected foremost in the fight, had climbed to the parapet of with a military organization of long standing, and un- the fort, when a shot struck him, and he fell backder the first call for seventy-five thousand troops, im- ward, and was seen no more. Now was Charlie inmediately left for the defence of the national capital. deed bereaved-his teacher, captain, friend, father, Soon there came a second call for three hundred thou-lover, dead on the battle-field, and even the poor satsand more, when Charlie's teacher, S. C. Guild, a most isfaction denied his friends of burying his remains. exemplary young man, soon to enter the ministry, His letters after this event, are one long wail of sorjoined the army. Between Charlie and him there ex-row- he could not be comforted-and yet, always isted a very ardent attachment, and Captain Guild se- thoughtful for others, he writes: “Oh! how I pity conded Charlie's earnest entreaties that he might go his poor mother !” with him as a drummer. He had been famous from Months passed, and the Eighth Michigan was orderhis babyhood for his musical ability, and had acquired to Vicksburgh to reënforce Grant, who had beed a good deal of merited notoriety for his skilful leaguered that doomed city. Battle after battle enhandling of the drumsticks. "If I can go to the war sued-nineteen of them-in all of which Charlie more with my drum, and thus take the place of a man who or less participated, often escaping death as by a mircan handle a musket," was Charlie's persistent plea, acle. Something of the fierce life led by this regiment "I think it is my duty to go, especially as you, mother, may be inferred from the fact that one thousand six do not greatly need me at home." So, reluctantly, the hundred and fifty-three men have enlisted in it since poor mother, who had surrendered her husband, con- it first took the field; of these, only four hundred sursented that her boy should join the Eighth Michigan | vive to-day, all but eight of whom have just reënlisted. infantry. Through all battles, all marches, all reconnoissances, The regiment was ordered to Port Royal, and on all campaigns, Charlie kept with the regiment, crosstheir way thither, Charlie met his father in Washing.ing the mountains with them to Knoxville, in Burnton. As they were returning from the Navy-yard side's corps, on rations of three ears of corn per day, where they had been for their arms, he saw his father and then for weeks shut up in that city, besieged by a little way off, and forgetting military rule, he broke Longstreet's force, and subsisting on quarter-rations. from the ranks, and with child-like joy ran to his Yet not one word of complaint ever came from the father's arms. It was their last earthly meeting, as patriot boy, not one word of regret, only an earnest the November following Mr. Gardner died of typhoid desire to remain in the service till the end of the war. fever at Alexandria. Charlie's letters to his mother after this bereavement, written from Port Royal, are exceedingly touching, and remarkably thoughtful for a boy not yet fourteen. "I am near broken-hearted," he writes: "I try to be cheerful, but it is of no use, my mind continually runs in the direction of home, a fresh gush of tears comes to my eyes, and I have to weep. But, mother, if this is so hard for me, what must it be for you? Don't take it too much to heart, for remember that you have me left, and I will do my best to help you. I shall send you all my money hereafter, for I do not really need money here."

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors]

At last, there came a letter from the surgeon. During the siege of Knoxville, Charlie had been wounded for the first time. A chance shot that passed through the window of the house in which he was, struck him on the shoulder, and entered the lung. He has been in a very dangerous condition," wrote the surgeon, "but he is now fast recovering. He is a universal pet, and is well cared for in the officers' quarters." The next tidings were more joyful. The regiment were on their way to Detroit, on a thirty days' furlough, and would remain to recruit. Now the telegraph notified those interested that they were in Louisville-then in Indianapolis-in Michigan City-at last in Detroit.

With a happy heart the good mother telegraphed to have her boy sent to Chicago as soon as possible, and then she watched the arrival of the trains. "He will be here to-night-he will be here to-morrow "-she said, and every summons to the door she was sure was her Charlie. Every thing was in readiness for the

[blocks in formation]

And the elements were waging Ruthless war-amid that gale. But the sentinels kept pacing

Pacing-up and down their track;
While the storm-king still kept tracing
Snowy ridges-front and back.
Ah! that air was deathly frigid,
And the sleet came tempest-tost!
But the orders out were rigid-
"Not a man must quit his post."

For, in front, (we'd had the warning,)
Massed, in force, the rebels lay,
Yet we looked for-prayed for morning,
Though 't should prove our final day!
Hours passed One watcher, weary—
Faltered, halted, breathed a moan;
Then, amidst the darkness dreary,

Failed-and sank to earth, alone.

When the gray light broke, at dawning,
Calm, beneath a friendly tree-
Blanched, and still, lay Harry Corning!
Sleeping on his post-was he?
Surely, no! A soldier braver

And never

Never met or charged the foe.
Such true hearts are few!
Could he fail in duty so.

"Forward!" came the word. We lifted
Quickly up his stiffened form,
Round it wreaths of snow had drifted,
But his heart no more was warm.
He had frozen, dead-on picket.
Dreadful fate was this, alack!

And we laid him 'neath the thicket,
Where he died— en bivouac.

IN CAMP, NEAR THE RAPIDAN, VA., FIRST DIVISION, SECOND CORPS, January, 1864.

THE AFRICAN COLOR-SERGEANT.

Glares the volcano breath,
Breaks the red sea of death,
From Wagner's yawning hold,
On the besiegers bold.

Twice vain the wild attack,
Inch by inch, sadly, slow,
Fights the torn remnant back,
Face to the foe.

Yet free the colors wave,
Borne by yon Afric brave,
In the fierce storm wind higher;
But, ah! one flashing fire:

He sinks! the banner falls
From the faint, mangled limb,
And droop to mocking walls
Those star-folds dim.

Stay, stay, the taunting laugh!
See! now he lifts the staff,
Clenched in his close-set teeth,
Crawls from dead heaps beneath,

Crowned with his starry robe,
Till he the ranks has found:
"Comrades, the dear old flag
Ne'er touched the ground."

O dead so pure, so grand,
Sydney might clasp thy hand!

O brother! black thy skin,
But white the pearl within!
Man, who to lift thy race
Worthy, thrice worthy art,
Clasps thee, in warm embrace.
A nation's heart!

RELIEVING GUARD-MARCH 4, 1864.

BY FRANK BREL HARTE.

Came the relief. "What, sentry ho!

How passed the night through thy long waking?" "Cold, cheerless, dark-as may befit

The hour before the dawn is breaking."

"No sight? no sound ?" "No; nothing, save The plover from the marshes calling;

And in yon western sky, about

An hour ago, a star was falling."

A star? There's nothing strange in that."
"No, nothing; but above the thicket
Somehow it seemed to me that God
Somewhere had just relieved a picket!"

THE REFUGEES.

By the mountain springs of the Cumberland,
Under the leafless trees,

With faces lit by the midnight brand,
And hand close clasped in trembling hand,
Sat the hundred refugees.

A woman, one with untimely frost
Creeping along her hair;

And a boy whose sunny locks had lost
Small store of the gold of childhood, tossed
By a mother's kisses there.

The clouds hung thick on the mountain's brow,
And the stars were veiled in gloom,
And the gorges around were white with snow,
But below was the prowling, cruel foe,
And the light of a burning home.

"Mother, the wind is cold to-night,"

Said the boy in childhood's tone;
"But oh! I hope in the morning's light,
That the Union lines will come in sight,
And the snow will soon be gone.

"I am very weary, mother dear,

With the long, long walk to-day,
But the enemy cannot find us here,
And I shall slumber without a fear
Till the night has passed away.

"So tell me now, ere I sleep once more,
The message that father gave
To his comrades for you and me before
The glorious fight on the river's shore
That made a soldier's grave."

Then the mother told, with tearless eye,
The solemn words again:

"Tell her I shall see her standing by,
When the calm comes on of the time to die,
And the wounds have lost their pain.
"And teach my boy for ever to hold
In his heart all things above-

« AnteriorContinuar »