Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: August 2, 1861

Jerrolaman went out this afternoon and picked nearly a peck of blackberries. Berries of various kinds are very abundant. The fox-grape is also found in great plenty, and as big as one's thumb.

The Indianians are great ramblers. Lieutenant Bell says they can be traced all over the country, for they not only eat all the berries, but nibble the thorns off the bushes.

General Reynolds told me, this evening, he thought it probable we would be attacked soon. Have been distributing ammunition, forty rounds to the man.

My black horse was missing this morning. Conway looked for him the greater part of the day, and finally found him in possession of an Indiana captain. It happened in this way: Captain Rupp, Thirteenth Indiana, told his men he would give forty dollars for a sesesh horse, and they took my horse out of the pasture, delivered it to him, and got the money. He rode the horse up the valley to Colonel Wagner's station, and when he returned bragged considerably over his good luck; but about dark Conway interviewed him on the subject, when a change came o'er the spirit of his dream. Colonel Sullivan tells me the officers now talk to Rupp about the fine points of his horse, ask to borrow him, and desire to know when he proposes to ride again.

A little group of soldiers are sitting around a camp-fire, not far away, entertaining each other with stories and otherwise. Just now one of them lifts up his voice, and in a melancholly strain sings:

Somebody —— “is weeping

For Gallant Andy Gay,

Who now in death lies sleeping

On the field of Monterey.”

While I write he strikes into another air, and these are the words as I catch them:

“Come back, come back, my purty fair maid!

Then thousand of my jinture on you I will bestow

If you’ll consent to marry me;

Oh, do not say me no.”

But the maid is indifferent to jintures, and replies indignantly:

“Oh, hold your tongue, captain, your words are all in vain;

I have a handsome sweetheart now across the main,

And if I do not find him I’ll mourn continuali.”

More of this interesting dialogue between the captain and the pretty fair maid I can not catch.

The sky is clear, but the night very dark. I do not contemplate my ride to the picket posts with any great degree of pleasure. A cowardly sentinel is more likely to shoot at you than a brave one. The fears of the former do not give him time to consider whether the person advancing is friend or foe.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 41-3

The Vacant Chair

We shall meet, but we shall miss him,

      There will be one vacant chair:

We shall linger to caress him,

      When we breathe our evening prayer.

When a year ago we gathered,

      Joy was in his mild blue eye;

But a golden cord is severed,

      And our hopes in ruin lie.

At our fireside, sad and lonely,

      Often will the bosom swell

At remembrance of the story, —

      How our noble Willie fell;

How he strove to bear our banner

      Through the thickest of the fight,

And upheld our country's honor

      With the strength of manhood's might.

True, they tell us, wreaths of glory

      Evermore will deck his brow;

But this soothes the anguish, only,

      Sweeping o'er our heart-strings now.

Sleep to-day, O early fallen!

      In thy green and narrow bed:

Dirges from the pine and cypress

      Mingle with the tears we shed.

We shall meet, but we shall miss him,

      There will be one vacant chair

We shall linger to caress him,

      When we breathe our evening prayer.

— Henry Stevenson Washburn, Worcester, Massachusetts, November 16, 1861. Set to music by George F. Root.

SOURCE: Henry Stevenson Washburn , The Vacant Chair and Other Poems, p. 13-14

Annie Laurie

Maxwelton braes are bonnie

Where early fa's the dew,

And it's there that Annie Laurie

Gie'd me her promise true;—

Gie'd me her promise true,

Which ne'er forgot will be:

And for bonnie Annie Laurie

I'd lay me doune and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw-drift;

Her throat is like the swan;

Her face it is the fairest

That e'er the sun shone on;—

That e'er the sun shone on—

And dark-blue is her ee:

And for bonnie Annie Laurie

I'd lay me doune and dee.

Like dew on the gowan lying

Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;

Like the winds in summer sighing,

Her voice is low and sweet;—

Her voice is low and sweet,

And she's a‘ the world to me:

And for bonnie Annie Laurie

I'd lay me doune and dee.

— WILLIAM DOUGLAS of Kirkcudbright.

SOURCE: Edward Cornelius Towne, Editor, Library of the World's Best Literature: Songs, Hymns, Lyrics, Volumne 40, p. 16,366

Diary of John Hay: January 15, 1864

On board the Fulton. The embarcation of the 54th Boys. Variety of complexions — redheads, — filing into their places on deck — singing, whistling, smoking and dancing — eating candy and chewing tobacco. Jolly little cuss, round, rosy and half-white, singing:—

Oh John Brown dey hung him

We're gwine to jine de Union Army

Oh John Brown dey hung him

We're gwine to Dixie's land.

Way down by James' River

Old massa's grave is made

And he or me is sure to fill it

When he meets de black Brigade.

We're gwine to trabbel to de Souf

To smack de rebels in de mouf.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 155; for the entire diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letter of John Hay, p. 154-5.

A Woman's Diary Of The Siege Of Vicksburg: Friday, June 5, 1863

In the cellar.—Wednesday evening H— said he must take a little walk, and went while the shelling had stopped. He never leaves me alone for long, and when an hour had passed without his return I grew anxious; and when two hours, and the shelling had grown terrific, I momentarily expected to see his mangled body. All sorts of horrors fill the mind now, and I am so desolate here; not a friend. When he came he said that passing a cave where there were no others near, he heard groans, and found a shell had struck above and caused the cave to fall in on the man within. He could not extricate him alone, and had to get help and dig him out. He was badly hurt, but not mortally, and I felt fairly sick from the suspense. Yesterday morning a note was brought H— from a bachelor uncle out in the trenches, saying he had been taken ill with fever, and could we receive him if he came? H— sent to tell him to come, and I arranged one of the parlors as a dressing-room for him, and laid a pallet that he could move back and forth to the cellar. He did not arrive, however. It is our custom in the evening to sit in the front room a little while in the dark, with matches and candle held ready in hand, and watch the shells, whose course at night is shown by the fuse. H— was at the window and suddenly sprang up, crying, "Run!" — “Where?” — “Back!”

I started through the back room, H— after me. I was just within the door when the crash came that threw me to the floor. It was the most appalling sensation I'd ever known. Worse than an earthquake, which I've also experienced. Shaken and deafened I picked myself up; H— had struck a light to find me. I lighted mine, and the smoke guided us to the parlor I had fixed for Uncle J—. The candles were useless in the dense smoke, and it was many minutes before we could see. Then we found the entire side of the room torn out. The soldiers who had rushed in said, “This is an eighty-pound Parrott.” It had entered through the front, burst on the pallet-bed, which was in tatters; the toilet service and everything else in the room smashed. The soldiers assisted H— to board up the break with planks to keep out prowlers, and we went to bed in the cellar as usual. This morning the yard is partially plowed by a couple that fell there in the night. I think this house, so large and prominent from the river, is perhaps taken for headquarters and specially shelled. As we descend at night to the lower regions, I think of the evening hymn that grandmother taught me when a child:

“Lord, keep us safe this night,

Secure from all our fears;

May angels guard us while we sleep,

Till morning light appears.”

Surely, if there are heavenly guardians we need them now.

SOURCE: George W. Cable, “A Woman's Diary Of The Siege Of Vicksburg”, The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXX, No. 5, September 1885, p. 771-2

Maryland, My Maryland

The despot's heel is on thy shore,

Maryland!

His touch is at thy temple door,

Maryland!

Avenge the patriotic gore

That flecked the streets of Baltimore,

And be the battle queen of yore,

Maryland! My Maryland!

Hark to a wand'ring son's appeal,

Maryland!

My mother State! to thee I kneel,

Maryland!

For life and death, for woe and weal,

Thy peerless chivalry reveal,

And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,

Maryland! My Maryland!

Thou wilt not cower in the dust,

Maryland!

Thy beaming sword shall never rust,

Maryland!

Remember Carroll's sacred trust,

Remember Howard's warlike thrust,—

And all thy slumberers with the just,

Maryland! My Maryland!

Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day,

Maryland!

Come with thy panoplied array,

Maryland!

With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,

With Watson's blood at Monterey,

With fearless Lowe and dashing May,

Maryland! My Maryland!

Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,

Maryland!

Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,

Maryland!

Come to thine own heroic throng,

That stalks with liberty along,

And gives a new Key to thy song,

Maryland! My Maryland!

Dear Mother! burst the tyrant's chain,

Maryland!

Virginia should not call in vain,

Maryland!

She meets her sisters on the plain—

"Sic semper!" 'tis the proud refrain

That baffles minions back again,

Maryland! My Maryland!

I see the blush upon thy cheek,

Maryland!

But thou wast ever bravely meek,

Maryland!

But lo! there surges forth a shriek

From hill to hill, from creek to creek—

Potomac calls to Chesapeake,

Maryland! My Maryland!

Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,

Maryland!

Thou wilt not crook to his control,

Maryland!

Better the fire upon thee roll,

Better the blade, the shot, the bowl,

Than crucifixion of the soul,

Maryland! My Maryland!

I hear the distant thunder hum,

Maryland!

The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum,

Maryland!

She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb—

Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum!

She breathes! she burns! she'll come! she'll come

Maryland! My Maryland!

– James Ryder Randall

SOURCE: James Ryder Randall, Maryland, My Maryland and Other Poems, p. 17-20

We Are Coming Father Abraham

We are coming, Father Abraham—six hundred thousand more,

From Mississippi's winding stream, and from New England's shore;

We leave our plows and workshop?, our wives and children dear,

With hearts too full tor utterance, with but a silent tear;

We dare not look behind us, but steadily before —

We are coming, Father Abraham — three hundred thousand more!

If you look across the hill-tops that meet the northern sky,

Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry;

And now the wind an instant, tears the cloudy veil aside,

And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride;

And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour —

We are coming, Father Abraham — three hundred thousand more!

If you look all up our valleys, where the growing harvests shine,

You may see our sturdy firmer boys fast forming into line,

And children from their mother's knees, are pulling at the weeds,

And learning how to reap and sow, against their country's needs;

And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door;

We are coming, Father Abraham — three hundred thousand more!

You have called us, and we are coming, by Richmond's bloody tide,

To lay us down for freedom's sake, our brothers'' bones beside;

Or from foul treason's savage grasp to wrench the murderous blade,

And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade.

Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before;

We are coming, Father Abraham — three hundred thousand more!

            – James S. Gibbons

SOURCES: Helen Kendrick Johnson, Frederic Dean, Reginald De Koven and Gerrit Smith, Editors, The World's Best Music: Famous Songs and Those who Made Them, Volume 4, p. 880-3; Rev. J. B. Pradt, Editor, Wisconsin Journal of Education, Volume 7, No. 3, September 1862, p. 81

The Flag Of The Red, White And Blue

Additional Verses to an Old Song.

BY REV. J. G. FORMAN.

I.

Blest banner of Freedom! Thy pinion

Floats wide o’er the land and the sea;

The emblem of peaceful dominion,

Our eyes turn with rapture to thee.

Though war-clouds and danger are o’er us,

Thy folds are still dear to our view;

With the flag of our country before us,

We march to the Read White and blue,

We march to the Read White and blue,

We march to the Read White and blue;

With the flag of our country before us,

We march to the Read White and blue.

II.

The glorious ensign ne’er sever,

Let it float in the ether above,

Its stars the bright symbol, forever,

Of Union and Freedom and Love.

May they never grow dim in their shining,

Nor fade from their colors so true,

The stars and stripes still entwining,

Hurrah for the Red, White and Blue.

III.

Though traitors shall meet and dissemble,

And armies of Rebels shall rise,

Our banner shall cause them to tremble

As it waves in the bright Southern skies;

And millions of patriot voices

Shall the chorus of Freedom renew,

And shout as the nation rejoices,

Hurrah for the Red, White and Blue.

Benton barracks, St. Louis, Feb. 1862.

– Published in the Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, April 12, 1862, p. 4

Rallying Song Of The Sixteenth Regiment Iowa Volunteers*

* This song was written by a volunteer in the Sixteenth Regiment. He was a member of Captain Newcomb's company, and went from Dubuque.—Dubuque Times.

Air — “The Old Granite State.”

WE have come from the prairies —

We have come from the prairies —

We have come from the prairies

Of the young Hawkeye State ;

With our fathers' deeds before us,

And their starry banner o'er us,

For the land they rescued for us,

We will welcome any fate.

We have left our cheerful quarters,

By the Mississippi's waters,

And our wives, and sons, and daughters,

For the fierce and bloody fight;

But they will not deplore us,

With the foe encamped before us,

For the God who watches o'er us,

Will himself protect the right.

Chorus — We have come from the prairies, &c.

From the dear Dubuque we rally,

And the swift Missouri's valley,

And to combat forth we sally,

With the armies of the free;

Like the flood that flows forever,

We will flee the battle never,

But the waters of our river,

We will follow to the sea.

We have come from the prairies, &c.

Where our country's voice is calling,

Where the foeman's strokes are falling,

And the tide of war is rolling,

To the far and sunny South;

Where our iron boats are speeding,

And our dauntless columns treading,

With the Mississippi leading,

We are marching for its mouth.

We have come from the prairies, &c.

And whene'er our country needs us,

And where'er our banner leads us,

Never heeding what impedes us,

We will follow to the death;

For the patriot, must not falter,

When his country's foes assault her,

And profane her sacred altar,

With their pestilential breath.

We have come from the prairies, &c.

May our flag float on forever,

O'er a Union none can sever,

And may vile secession never

Spread its ruin through our land;

May our country's wrongs be righted,

And her children reunited,

And her flag no more be blighted

By the touch of Treason's hand.

We have come from the prairies, &c.

SOURCE: Frank Moore, Songs of the soldiers, p. 114-6

THE FLAG OF THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE

Additional Verses to an Old Song

BY REV. J. G. FORMAN

Blest banner of Freedom, thy pinion
Floats wide o'er the land and the sea ;
The emblem of peaceful dominion,
Our eyes turn with rapture to thee.
Though war clouds and dangers are o'er us,
Thy folds are still dear to our view;
With the flag of our country before us,
We'll march to the Red, White and Blue,
We'll march to the Red, White and Blue,
With the flag of our country before us,
We'll march to the Red, White and Blue.

The glorious ensign ne'er sever,
Let it float in the ether above,
Its stars, the bright symbol forever
Of Union, and .Freedom, and Love ;
May they never grow dim in their shining,
Nor fade from their colors so true,
The Stars and the Stripes still entwining,
Hurrah for the Red, White and Blue!

Though traitors shall meet and dissemble,
'And armies of rebels shall rise,
Our banner shall, cause them to tremble,
As it waves in the bright Southern skies;
And millions of patriot voices,
Shall the chorus of Freedom .renew,
And shout, as the nation rejoices,
Hurrah for the Red, White and Blue!

Benton Barracks, St. Louis, Feb. 1862

– Published in the Daily State Register, Des Moines, Iowa, Sunday, April 13, 1862