Page images
PDF
EPUB

Sometimes the patriotism of such a gathering would be wrought up so intensely by waving banners, martial and vocal music, and burning eloquence, that a town's quota would be filled in less than an hour. It needed only the first man to step forward, put down his name, be patted on the back, placed upon the platform, and cheered to the echo as the hero of the hour, when a second, a third, a fourth would follow, and at last a perfect stampede set in to sign the enlistment roll, and a frenzy of enthusiasm would take possession of the meeting. The complete intoxication of such excitement, like intoxication from liquor, left some of its victims on the following day, especially if the fathers of families, with the sober second thought to wrestle with; but Pride, that tyrannical master, rarely let them turn back.

John D. Billings, Hardtack and Coffee, or The Unwritten Story of Army Life (Boston, etc., 1888), 34-41 passim.

85. War Songs (1861-1864)

BY NORTHERN POETS

The Civil War was a people's war; and the camp, the march, the public meetings at home, and even the hospital were enlivened by patriotic songs. The northern songs given below include some often sung, chiefly of little poetic value, and one of less popularity but more literary merit. For southern songs, see No. 91 below. — Bibliography as in No. 84 above.

A. "JOHN BROWN'S BODY"

(ANONYMOUS)

JOHN BROWN'S body lies a-mould'ring in the grave,
John Brown's body lies a-mould'ring in the grave,
John Brown's body lies a-mould'ring in the grave,
His soul is marching on!

[blocks in formation]

He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!
He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!

WE

He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!
His soul is marching on. — Chorus.

John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back.
His soul is marching on. - Chorus.

[blocks in formation]

Now for the Union let's give three rousing cheers,
As we go marching on.

Hip, hip, hip, hip, Hurrah!

B. "THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE"

BY JAMES SLOAN GIBBONS

E are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi's winding stream and from New England's
shore ;

We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear;

We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before:

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

If you look across the hilltops 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 farmer 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're 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!

U

[blocks in formation]

P with the Flag of the Stripes and the Stars!

Gather together from plough and from loom!

Hark to the signal!— the music of wars
Sounding for tyrants and traitors their doom.
March, march, march, march !

Brothers unite rouse in your might,

For Justice and Freedom, for God and the Right!

Down with the foe to the Land and the Laws !

Marching together, our country to save,

God shall be with us to strengthen our cause,
Nerving the heart and the hand of the brave.
March, march, march, march!

Brothers unite-rouse in your might,

For Justice and Freedom, for God and the Right!

Flag of the Free! under thee we will fight,

Shoulder to shoulder, our face to the foe;

Death to all traitors, and God for the Right!
Singing this song as to battle we go:

March, march, march, march!

Freemen unite rouse in your might,

For Justice and Freedom, for God and the Right!

Land of the Free- that our fathers of old,
Bleeding together, cemented in blood-

Give us thy blessing, as brave and as bold,
Standing like one, as our ancestors stood
We march, march, march, march!

Conquer or fall! Hark to the call:
Justice and Freedom for one and for all!

-

Chain of the slave we have suffered so long —
Striving together, thy links we will break!

Hark! for God hears us, as echoes our song,
Sounding the cry to make Tyranny quake:
March, march, march, march!
Conquer or fall! Rouse to the call

Justice and Freedom for one and for all!

Workmen arise! There is work for us now;

Ours the red ledger for bayonet pen;

Sword be our hammer, and cannon our plough;
Liberty's loom must be driven by men !
March, march, march, march!

Freemen we fight, roused in our might,

For Justice and Freedom, for God and the Right!

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

7ES, we'll rally round the flag, boys, we'll rally once again, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom,

YES

We will rally from the hill-side, we'll gather from the plain,
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

Chorus.-The Union forever, hurrah! boys, hurrah,

Down with the traitor, up with the star,

While we rally round the flag, boys, rally once again,
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before,
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom,

And we'll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen more,
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

Chorus.

We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true, and brave,
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom,

And altho' they may be poor, not a man shall be a slave,
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. - Chorus.

So we're springing to the call from the East and from the West,
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom,

And we'll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love the best,

Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.

Chorus.

From reprints in Lyrics of Loyalty (edited by Frank Moore, New York, 1864), 78; American War Ballads and Lyrics (edited by George Cary Eggleston, New York, etc., [1889]), II, 160, 271, 275.

86. The Rough Side of Campaigning (1862)

BY MAJOR WILDER DWIGHT

Dwight, a member of a prominent Massachusetts family, is a good example of the young volunteer officers of good birth and college education who were numerous in both armies during the war. - Bibliography of the campaign: J. C. Ropes, Story of the Civil War, II, vii-xii; Channing and Hart, Guide, § 210.

SCE

CAMP NEAR EDINBURG, April 9, 1862.

CENE, camp, snowing and raining, and blowing angrily; Time, Tuesday morning. The Major Second Massachusetts Regiment enters his tent, shaking the dripping oil-skin cap and India-rubber clothing. He discovers John, his John, surnamed Strong i' the arm, or Armstrong, digging a hole within the damp tent to receive some coals from the hickory fire that is trying to blaze without. John (loquitur). Sogering is queer business, sir. M. Yes, John. J. But it's hard, too, sir, on them that follers it. M. Yes, John. J. It's asy for them as sits to home, sir, by the fire, and talks about sogers and victories, very fine and asy like. It's little they know of the raal work, sir. M. Yes, John. J. 'T would n't be quite the same, sir, if they was out here theirselves trying to warm theirselves at a hole in the ground, sir. M. No, John. Then the coals are brought on, and a feeble comfort is attained. The woods are heavy without with snow and ice. In the afternoon I visit the pickets, and spend a chilly and wearisome day. This morning is again like yesterday. who has shown himself a trump in our recent exigencies, but who has certain eccentricities of manner and speech, came to breakfast this morning, rubbing his hands and saying, "You would n't hardly know that this was the South if you did n't keep looking on the map, would you? hey? What say?"

[ocr errors]

Since I wrote the above I have spent two hours in the hail-storm visiting pickets. This, then, is an invasion of the South, query? ...

« PreviousContinue »