CHAPTER IV

Oh, Northern men—true hearts and bold—Unflinching to the conflict press!Firmly our country's flag uphold,Till traitorous foes its sway confess!Not lightly was our freedom bought,By many a martyr's cross and grave;Six weary years our fathers fought,'Midst want and peril, sternly brave.And thrice six years, with tightening coil,Still closer wound by treacherous art,Men—children of our common soil—Have preyed upon the nation's heart!Yet still it beats, responsive, deep,Its strong pulse throbbing through the land,Gathering a human flood, to sweepResistless, o'er the rebel band!Firmly resolved to win success,We'll tread the path our fathers trod,Unflinching to the conflict press,And, fearless, trust our cause to God!New YorkEvening Post, July 26, 1861.

Oh, Northern men—true hearts and bold—Unflinching to the conflict press!Firmly our country's flag uphold,Till traitorous foes its sway confess!

Not lightly was our freedom bought,By many a martyr's cross and grave;Six weary years our fathers fought,'Midst want and peril, sternly brave.

And thrice six years, with tightening coil,Still closer wound by treacherous art,Men—children of our common soil—Have preyed upon the nation's heart!

Yet still it beats, responsive, deep,Its strong pulse throbbing through the land,Gathering a human flood, to sweepResistless, o'er the rebel band!

Firmly resolved to win success,We'll tread the path our fathers trod,Unflinching to the conflict press,And, fearless, trust our cause to God!

New YorkEvening Post, July 26, 1861.

The North soon had another bitter pill to swallow. On May 13, 1861, Great Britain issued a proclamation of neutrality, recognizing the Confederacy as a belligerent power. England's sympathy, because of close trade relations, was with the South, and the Southern people counted on her eventually recognizing their independence.

SHOP AND FREEDOM

[May 13, 1861]

Though with the North we sympathize,It must not be forgottenThat with the South we've stronger ties,Which are composed of cotton,Whereof our imports 'mount untoA sum of many figures;And where would be our calico,Without the toil of niggers?The South enslaves those fellow-menWhom we love all so dearly;The North keeps commerce bound again,Which touches us more nearly.Thus a divided duty wePerceive in this hard matter—Free trade, or sable brothers free?Oh, will we choose the latter!LondonPunch.

The South enslaves those fellow-menWhom we love all so dearly;The North keeps commerce bound again,Which touches us more nearly.Thus a divided duty wePerceive in this hard matter—Free trade, or sable brothers free?Oh, will we choose the latter!

LondonPunch.

James M. Mason and John Slidell were appointed commissioners from the Confederacy to England and France; they reached Havana on a little steamer that had run the blockade, and took passage for Southampton in the British mail steamship Trent. On November 8, 1861, in the Bahama Channel, the Trent was overhauled by the American man-of-war San Jacinto, Captain Wilkes. She was compelled to stop, and Mason and Slidell and their secretaries were taken from her by force.

THE C. S. A. COMMISSIONERS

[November, 1861]

Ye jolly Yankee gentlemen, who live at home in ease,How little do ye think upon the dangers of the seas!The winds and waves, the whales and sharks, you've heard of long ago,But there are things much worse than these, as presently I'll show.If you're a true-bred Union man, go joyful where you please;Beneath the glorious Stars and Stripes cross safe the stormy seas;But look out for San Jacintos that may catch you on your way,If you're acting as Commissioner for the noble C. S. A.And now you'll guess my subject, and what my song's about;But I'd not have put them into rhyme, iftheyhadn't first put out;For theyput outof Charleston, when the night was drear and dark,And then they put out all the lights, that they might not be a mark;And then they did put out to sea (though here there seems a hitch,For what could they expect to see when the night was black as pitch?),But they somehow 'scaped the Union ships, and hoped on some fine dayTo land in Europe and to "blow" about the C. S. A.They safely got to Cuba and landed in Havana;Described the power and glory of New Orleans and Savannah;Declared that running the blockade was a thing by no means hard,And boasted of the vic'tries won by their valiant Beauregard;Davis's skill in government could never be surpassed—The amazing strokes of genius by which he cash amassed;Foreign bankers would acknowledge, ere a month had passed away,That the true financial paradise was in the C. S. A.*****Some days are passed, and pleasantly, upon Bermuda's Isle,The sun is shining bright and fair, and nature seems to smile;The breezes moved the British flag that fluttered o'er the Trent,And the ripples rose to lave her sides, as proudly on she went.Mason and Slidell, on deck, thought all their dangers past,And poked each other's ribs and laughed, as they leant against the mast:"Haven't the Yankees just been done uncommonly nice, eh?They've got most money, but the brains are in the C. S. A.!"You have heard the ancient proverb, and, though old, it's very good,Which hints "it's better not to crow until you've left the wood."And so it proved with these two gents; for at that moment—souse!A cannon-shot fell splash across the steamer's bows.The San Jacinto came up close, and though rather rude, 'tis true,Good Wilkes he hailed the Trent and said, "I'll thank you to heave to;If you don't give up two rascals, I must blow you right away.Mason and Slidell they're named, and they're from the C. S. A."The British captain raged and swore; but then what could he do?It scarcely would be worth his while to be blown up, he knew;Wilkes's marines, with bayonets fixed, were standing on the Trent,So he gave up the traitors, and o'er the side they went.Wilkes, having got them, wished they'd feel pleasant and at home,So offered his best cabins, if their ladies chose to come;But they shook their heads and merely smiled, I'm sorry for to say,Conjugality's at a discount down in the C. S. A.They coolly said unto their lords, "Our dresses all are new;What on earth would be the use of going back with you?And though we're very sorry that your plans are undone,We mean to pass the winter in Paris and in London.'Stead of bothering you, and sharing your prison beds and fetters,We'll write each mail from Europe the most delightful letters;Tell you of all we've done and seen, at party, ball, or play,To cheer your hearts, poor martyrs, tocottonand C. S. A."So the two vessels parted; the San Jacinto wentTo unload her precious cargo, while the captain of the Trent,Having lost a (probable)douceurwhich had seemed within his grip,We presume, for consolation, retired and took a nip.The ladies talked of the affair less with a tear than smile;Their lords and masters took their way to Warren's Fort the while;And gratis lodged and boarded there, they may think for many a dayThat brains are sometimes northward found as well's in C. S. A.

And now you'll guess my subject, and what my song's about;But I'd not have put them into rhyme, iftheyhadn't first put out;For theyput outof Charleston, when the night was drear and dark,And then they put out all the lights, that they might not be a mark;And then they did put out to sea (though here there seems a hitch,For what could they expect to see when the night was black as pitch?),But they somehow 'scaped the Union ships, and hoped on some fine dayTo land in Europe and to "blow" about the C. S. A.

They safely got to Cuba and landed in Havana;Described the power and glory of New Orleans and Savannah;Declared that running the blockade was a thing by no means hard,And boasted of the vic'tries won by their valiant Beauregard;Davis's skill in government could never be surpassed—The amazing strokes of genius by which he cash amassed;Foreign bankers would acknowledge, ere a month had passed away,That the true financial paradise was in the C. S. A.

*****

Some days are passed, and pleasantly, upon Bermuda's Isle,The sun is shining bright and fair, and nature seems to smile;The breezes moved the British flag that fluttered o'er the Trent,And the ripples rose to lave her sides, as proudly on she went.Mason and Slidell, on deck, thought all their dangers past,And poked each other's ribs and laughed, as they leant against the mast:"Haven't the Yankees just been done uncommonly nice, eh?They've got most money, but the brains are in the C. S. A.!"

You have heard the ancient proverb, and, though old, it's very good,Which hints "it's better not to crow until you've left the wood."And so it proved with these two gents; for at that moment—souse!A cannon-shot fell splash across the steamer's bows.The San Jacinto came up close, and though rather rude, 'tis true,Good Wilkes he hailed the Trent and said, "I'll thank you to heave to;If you don't give up two rascals, I must blow you right away.Mason and Slidell they're named, and they're from the C. S. A."

The British captain raged and swore; but then what could he do?It scarcely would be worth his while to be blown up, he knew;Wilkes's marines, with bayonets fixed, were standing on the Trent,So he gave up the traitors, and o'er the side they went.Wilkes, having got them, wished they'd feel pleasant and at home,So offered his best cabins, if their ladies chose to come;But they shook their heads and merely smiled, I'm sorry for to say,Conjugality's at a discount down in the C. S. A.

They coolly said unto their lords, "Our dresses all are new;What on earth would be the use of going back with you?And though we're very sorry that your plans are undone,We mean to pass the winter in Paris and in London.'Stead of bothering you, and sharing your prison beds and fetters,We'll write each mail from Europe the most delightful letters;Tell you of all we've done and seen, at party, ball, or play,To cheer your hearts, poor martyrs, tocottonand C. S. A."

So the two vessels parted; the San Jacinto wentTo unload her precious cargo, while the captain of the Trent,Having lost a (probable)douceurwhich had seemed within his grip,We presume, for consolation, retired and took a nip.The ladies talked of the affair less with a tear than smile;Their lords and masters took their way to Warren's Fort the while;And gratis lodged and boarded there, they may think for many a dayThat brains are sometimes northward found as well's in C. S. A.

The prisoners were taken to Fort Warren, in Boston harbor, and the North went wild with delight. It was understood that Great Britain would have to be reckoned with, but no one seemed to care. Wilkes was complimented and banquetted and lionized, and the House of Representatives gave him a vote of thanks.

DEATH OF THE LINCOLN DESPOTISM

'Twas out upon mid ocean that the San Jacinto hailedAn English neutral vessel, while on her course she sailed;They sent her traitor Fairfax, to board her with his crew,And beard the "British lion" with his "Yankee-doodle-doo."The Yankees took her passengers, and put them on their ship,And swore that base secession could not give them the slip;But England says she'll have them, if Washington must fall,So Lincoln and his "nigger craft" must certainly feel small.Of all the "Yankee notions" that ever had their birth,The one of searching neutrals affords the greatest mirth—To the Southrons; but the Yankees will ever hate the fameWhich gives to Wilkes and Fairfax their never-dying name.Throughout the North their Captain Wilkes received his meed of praise,For doing—in these civilized—the deeds of darker days;But England's guns will thunder along the Yankee coast,And show the abolitionists too soon they made their boast.Then while Old England's cannon are booming on the sea,Our Johnson, Smith, and Beauregard dear Maryland will free,And Johnston in Kentucky will whip the Yankees too,And start them to the lively tune of "Yankee-doodle-doo."Then down at Pensacola, where the game is always "Bragg,"The "Stars and Stripes" will be pulled down and in the dust be dragged;For Pickens can't withstand us when Braxton is the cry,And there you'll see the Yankees, with their usual speed, will fly.On the coast of Dixie's kingdom there are batteries made by Lee,And covered up with cotton, which the Yankees want to see;But when they go to take it, they'll find it will not do,And start upon the "double-quick" to "Yankee-doodle-doo."Then Evans and his cavalry will follow in their track,And drive them in the Atlantic, or safely bring them back,And hold them till Abe Lincoln and all his Northern scumShall own our independence of "Yankee-Doodledom."RichmondDispatch.

Of all the "Yankee notions" that ever had their birth,The one of searching neutrals affords the greatest mirth—To the Southrons; but the Yankees will ever hate the fameWhich gives to Wilkes and Fairfax their never-dying name.Throughout the North their Captain Wilkes received his meed of praise,For doing—in these civilized—the deeds of darker days;But England's guns will thunder along the Yankee coast,And show the abolitionists too soon they made their boast.

Then while Old England's cannon are booming on the sea,Our Johnson, Smith, and Beauregard dear Maryland will free,And Johnston in Kentucky will whip the Yankees too,And start them to the lively tune of "Yankee-doodle-doo."Then down at Pensacola, where the game is always "Bragg,"The "Stars and Stripes" will be pulled down and in the dust be dragged;For Pickens can't withstand us when Braxton is the cry,And there you'll see the Yankees, with their usual speed, will fly.

On the coast of Dixie's kingdom there are batteries made by Lee,And covered up with cotton, which the Yankees want to see;But when they go to take it, they'll find it will not do,And start upon the "double-quick" to "Yankee-doodle-doo."Then Evans and his cavalry will follow in their track,And drive them in the Atlantic, or safely bring them back,And hold them till Abe Lincoln and all his Northern scumShall own our independence of "Yankee-Doodledom."

RichmondDispatch.

News of the seizure reached England November 27, 1861. A cabinet meeting was at once held, the act of Captain Wilkes was declared to be "a clear violation of the law of nations," the release of Mason and Slidell was demanded, together with a suitable apology for the aggression. England began to make extensive naval preparations, and eight thousand troops were sent to Canada.

JONATHAN TO JOHN

[December, 1861]

It don't seem hardly right, John,When both my hands was full,To stump me to a fight, John,—Your cousin, tu, John Bull!Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessWe know it now," sez he,"The Lion's paw is all the law,Accordin' to J. B.,Thet's fit for you an' me!"You wonder why we're hot, John?Your mark wuz on the guns,The neutral guns, thet shot, John,Our brothers an' our sons:Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessThere's human blood," sez he,"By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts,Though 't may surprise J. B.More 'n it would you an' me."EfIturned mad dogs loose, John,Onyourfront-parlor stairs,Would it jest meet your views, John,To wait an' sue their heirs?Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,I on'y guess," sez he,"Thet ef Vattel onhistoes fell,'Twould kind o' rile J. B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!"Who made the law thet hurts, John,Heads I win—ditto tails?"J. B." was on his shirts, John,Onless my memory fails.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess(I'm good at thet)," sez he,"Thet sauce for goose ain'tjestthe juiceFor ganders with J. B.,No more 'n with you or me!"When your rights was our wrongs, John,You didn't stop for fuss,—Britanny's trident prongs, John,Was good 'nough law for us.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,Though physic's good," sez he,"It doesn't foller thet he can swallerPrescriptions signed 'J. B.,'Put up by you an' me."We own the ocean, tu, John:You mus'n' take it hard,Ef we can't think with you, John,It's jest your own back yard.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessEfthet'shis claim," sez he,"The fencin'-stuff 'll cost enoughTo bust up friend J. B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!"Why talk so dreffle big, John,Of honor when it meantYou didn't care a fig, John,But jest forten per cent?Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessHe's like the rest," sez he:"When all is done, it's number oneThet's nearest to J. B.,Ez wal ez t' you an' me!"We give the critters back, John,Cos Abram thought 'twas right;It warn't your bullyin' clack, John,Provokin' us to fight.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessWe've a hard row," sez he,"To hoe jest now; but thet, somehow,May happen to J. B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!"We ain't so weak an' poor, John,With twenty million people,An' close to every door, John,A school-house an' a steeple.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessIt is a fact," sez he,"The surest plan to make a ManIs, think him so, J. B.,Ez much ez you or me!"Our folks believe in Law, John;An' it's fer her sake, now,They've left the axe an' saw, John,The anvil an' the plough.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,Ef 'twarn't fer law," sez he,"There'd be one shindy from here to Indy;An'thetdon't suit J. B.(When 't ain't 'twixt you an' me!)"We know we've got a cause, John,Thet's honest, just, an' true;We thought 'twould win applause, John,If nowheres else, from you.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessHis love of right," sez he,"Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton:There's natur' in J. B.,Ez wal ez in you an' me!"The South says, "Poor folks down!" John,An' "All men up!" say we,—White, yaller, black, an' brown, John:Now which is your idee?Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessJohn preaches wal," sez he;"But, sermon thru, an' come todu,Why, there's the old J. B.A-crowdin' you an' me!"Shall it be love, or hate, John?It's you thet's to decide;Ain'tyourbonds held by Fate, John,Like all the world's beside?Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessWise men forgive," sez he,"But not forgit; an' some time yitThet truth may strike J. B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!"God means to make this land, John,Clear thru, from sea to sea,Believe an' understand, John,Thewutho' bein' free.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessGod's price is high," sez he;"But nothin' else than wut he sellsWears long, an' thet J. B.May larn, like you an' me!"James Russell Lowell.

You wonder why we're hot, John?Your mark wuz on the guns,The neutral guns, thet shot, John,Our brothers an' our sons:Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessThere's human blood," sez he,"By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts,Though 't may surprise J. B.More 'n it would you an' me."

EfIturned mad dogs loose, John,Onyourfront-parlor stairs,Would it jest meet your views, John,To wait an' sue their heirs?Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,I on'y guess," sez he,"Thet ef Vattel onhistoes fell,'Twould kind o' rile J. B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!"

Who made the law thet hurts, John,Heads I win—ditto tails?"J. B." was on his shirts, John,Onless my memory fails.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess(I'm good at thet)," sez he,"Thet sauce for goose ain'tjestthe juiceFor ganders with J. B.,No more 'n with you or me!"

When your rights was our wrongs, John,You didn't stop for fuss,—Britanny's trident prongs, John,Was good 'nough law for us.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,Though physic's good," sez he,"It doesn't foller thet he can swallerPrescriptions signed 'J. B.,'Put up by you an' me."

We own the ocean, tu, John:You mus'n' take it hard,Ef we can't think with you, John,It's jest your own back yard.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessEfthet'shis claim," sez he,"The fencin'-stuff 'll cost enoughTo bust up friend J. B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!"

Why talk so dreffle big, John,Of honor when it meantYou didn't care a fig, John,But jest forten per cent?Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessHe's like the rest," sez he:"When all is done, it's number oneThet's nearest to J. B.,Ez wal ez t' you an' me!"

We give the critters back, John,Cos Abram thought 'twas right;It warn't your bullyin' clack, John,Provokin' us to fight.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessWe've a hard row," sez he,"To hoe jest now; but thet, somehow,May happen to J. B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!"

We ain't so weak an' poor, John,With twenty million people,An' close to every door, John,A school-house an' a steeple.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessIt is a fact," sez he,"The surest plan to make a ManIs, think him so, J. B.,Ez much ez you or me!"

Our folks believe in Law, John;An' it's fer her sake, now,They've left the axe an' saw, John,The anvil an' the plough.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,Ef 'twarn't fer law," sez he,"There'd be one shindy from here to Indy;An'thetdon't suit J. B.(When 't ain't 'twixt you an' me!)"

We know we've got a cause, John,Thet's honest, just, an' true;We thought 'twould win applause, John,If nowheres else, from you.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessHis love of right," sez he,"Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton:There's natur' in J. B.,Ez wal ez in you an' me!"

The South says, "Poor folks down!" John,An' "All men up!" say we,—White, yaller, black, an' brown, John:Now which is your idee?Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessJohn preaches wal," sez he;"But, sermon thru, an' come todu,Why, there's the old J. B.A-crowdin' you an' me!"

Shall it be love, or hate, John?It's you thet's to decide;Ain'tyourbonds held by Fate, John,Like all the world's beside?Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessWise men forgive," sez he,"But not forgit; an' some time yitThet truth may strike J. B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!"

God means to make this land, John,Clear thru, from sea to sea,Believe an' understand, John,Thewutho' bein' free.Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guessGod's price is high," sez he;"But nothin' else than wut he sellsWears long, an' thet J. B.May larn, like you an' me!"

James Russell Lowell.

England was clearly in the right in her contention; Wilkes's act was disavowed, and Mason and Slidell were delivered to an English steamer at Provincetown. All danger of war with England was for the time being avoided.

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,When we were first acquent,You acted very much as nowYou act about the Trent.You stole my bonny sailors, John,My bonny ships also,You're aye the same fierce beast to me,John Bull, Esquire, my jo!John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,Since we were linked together,Full many a jolly fight, John,We've had with one another.Now must we fight again, John?Then at it let us go!And God will help the honest heart,John Bull, Esquire, my jo.John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,A century has gone by,Since you called me your slave, John,Since I at you let fly.You want to fight it out again—That war of waste and woe;You'll find me much the same old coon,John Bull, Esquire, my jo.John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,If lying loons have toldThat I have lost my pluck, John,And fight not as of old;You'd better not believe it, John,Nor scorn your ancient foe;For I've seen weaker days than this,John Bull, Esquire, my jo.John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,Hear this my language plain:I never smote you unprovoked,I never smote in vain.If you want peace, peace let it be!If war, be pleased to know,Shots in my locker yet remain,John Bull, Esquire, my jo!

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,Since we were linked together,Full many a jolly fight, John,We've had with one another.Now must we fight again, John?Then at it let us go!And God will help the honest heart,John Bull, Esquire, my jo.

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,A century has gone by,Since you called me your slave, John,Since I at you let fly.You want to fight it out again—That war of waste and woe;You'll find me much the same old coon,John Bull, Esquire, my jo.

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,If lying loons have toldThat I have lost my pluck, John,And fight not as of old;You'd better not believe it, John,Nor scorn your ancient foe;For I've seen weaker days than this,John Bull, Esquire, my jo.

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,Hear this my language plain:I never smote you unprovoked,I never smote in vain.If you want peace, peace let it be!If war, be pleased to know,Shots in my locker yet remain,John Bull, Esquire, my jo!

THE GRAND ARMY OF THE POTOMAC

The defeat at Bull Run showed the necessity for a thorough reorganization of the Army of the Potomac, and George B. McClellan, who had made a successful campaign in Western Virginia, was summoned to Washington and placed in command. At the end of two months, he had under him a splendidly equipped and disciplined force of over a hundred thousand men. The pickets were gradually extended, and little skirmishes with the enemy took place almost daily.

CIVIL WAR

"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shotStraight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;Ring me a ball in the glittering spotThat shines on his breast like an amulet!""Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead,There's music around when my barrel's in tune!"Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon."Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatchFrom your victim some trinket to handsel first blood;A button, a loop, or that luminous patchThat gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!""O captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track,When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette,For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet."But I snatched off the trinket,—this locket of gold;An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,Of a beautiful lady in bridal array.""Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!—'tis she,My brother's young bride, and the fallen dragoonWas her husband—Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree,We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!"But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite;War is a virtue,—weakness a sin;There's a lurking and loping around us to-nightLoad again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"Charles Dawson Shanly.

"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shotStraight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;Ring me a ball in the glittering spotThat shines on his breast like an amulet!"

"Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead,There's music around when my barrel's in tune!"Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.

"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatchFrom your victim some trinket to handsel first blood;A button, a loop, or that luminous patchThat gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!"

"O captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track,When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette,For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.

"But I snatched off the trinket,—this locket of gold;An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."

"Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!—'tis she,My brother's young bride, and the fallen dragoonWas her husband—Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree,We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!

"But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite;War is a virtue,—weakness a sin;There's a lurking and loping around us to-nightLoad again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"

Charles Dawson Shanly.

McClellan at last began preparations for a grand advance into Virginia, troops were sent across the Potomac in great numbers—then, suddenly, the orders were countermanded and the troops brought back across the river. The army had increased to one hundred and fifty thousand men, but for nearly two months the public ear was daily irritated by the report, "All quiet along the Potomac."

THE PICKET-GUARD

[November, 1861]

"All quiet along the Potomac," they say,"Except now and then a stray picketIs shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro,By a rifleman hid in the thicket.'Tis nothing: a private or two, now and then,Will not count in the news of the battle;Not an officer lost—only one of the men,Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle."All quiet along the Potomac to-night,Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,Or the light of the watch-fire, are gleaming.A tremulous sigh of the gentle night-windThrough the forest leaves softly is creeping,While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,Keep guard, for the army is sleeping.There's only the sound of the lone sentry's treadAs he tramps from the rock to the fountain,And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bedFar away in the cot on the mountain.His musket falls slack; his face, dark and grim,Grows gentle with memories tender,As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep—For their mother—may Heaven defend her!The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,That night, when the love yet unspokenLeaped up to his lips—when low-murmured vowsWere pledged to be ever unbroken.Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,He dashes off tears that are welling,And gathers his gun closer up to its placeAs if to keep down the heart-swelling.He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree;The footstep is lagging and weary;Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,Towards the shade of the forest so dreary.Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?It looked like a rifle ... "Ha! Mary, good-by!"The red life-blood is ebbing and plashing.All quiet along the Potomac to-night—No sound save the rush of the river,While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead—The picket's off duty forever!Ethel Lynn Beers.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,Or the light of the watch-fire, are gleaming.A tremulous sigh of the gentle night-windThrough the forest leaves softly is creeping,While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,Keep guard, for the army is sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's treadAs he tramps from the rock to the fountain,And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bedFar away in the cot on the mountain.His musket falls slack; his face, dark and grim,Grows gentle with memories tender,As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep—For their mother—may Heaven defend her!

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,That night, when the love yet unspokenLeaped up to his lips—when low-murmured vowsWere pledged to be ever unbroken.Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,He dashes off tears that are welling,And gathers his gun closer up to its placeAs if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree;The footstep is lagging and weary;Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,Towards the shade of the forest so dreary.Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?It looked like a rifle ... "Ha! Mary, good-by!"The red life-blood is ebbing and plashing.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night—No sound save the rush of the river,While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead—The picket's off duty forever!

Ethel Lynn Beers.

Despite the size and efficiency of the "Grand Army," nothing was done and nothing attempted. It was evident that McClellan, though a perfect organizer and disciplinarian, lacked the qualities of aggressive leadership, and the discontent of the country found constant and angry expression.

TARDY GEORGE

[January, 1862]

What are you waiting for, George, I pray?To scour your cross-belts with fresh pipe-clay?To burnish your buttons, to brighten your guns;Or wait you for May-day and warm spring suns?Are you blowing your fingers because they are cold,Or catching your breath ere you take a hold?Is the mud knee-deep in valley and gorge?What are you waiting for, tardy George?Want you a thousand more cannon made,To add to the thousand now arrayed?Want you more men, more money to pay?Are not two millions enough per day?Wait you for gold and credit to go,Before we shall see your martial show;Till Treasury Notes will not pay to forge?What are you waiting for, tardy George?Are you waiting for your hair to turn,Your heart to soften, your bowels to yearnA little more toward "our Southern friends,"As at home and abroad they work their ends?"Our Southern friends!" whom you hold so dearThat you do no harm and give no fear,As you tenderly take them by the gorge—What are you waiting for, tardy George?Now that you've marshalled your whole command,Planned what you would, and changed what you planned;Practised with shot and practised with shell,Know to a hair where every one fell,Made signs by day and signals by night;Was it all done to keep out of a fight?Is the whole matter too heavy a charge?What are you waiting for, tardy George?Shall we have more speeches, more reviews?Or are you waiting to hear the news;To hold up your hands in mute surprise,When France and England shall "recognize"?Are you too grand to fight traitors small?Must you have a nation to cope withal?Well, hammer the anvil and blow the forge—You'll soon have a dozen, tardy George.Suppose for a moment, George, my friend—Just for a moment—you condescendTo use the means that are in your hands,The eager muskets and guns and brands;Take one bold step on the Southern sod,And leave the issue to watchful God!For now the nation raises its gorge,Waiting and watching you, tardy George.I should not much wonder, George, my boy,If Stanton get in his head a toy,And some fine morning, ere you are out,He send you all "to the right about"—You and Jomini, and all the crewWho think that war is nothing to doBut to drill and cypher, and hammer and forge—What are you waiting for, tardy George?

Want you a thousand more cannon made,To add to the thousand now arrayed?Want you more men, more money to pay?Are not two millions enough per day?Wait you for gold and credit to go,Before we shall see your martial show;Till Treasury Notes will not pay to forge?What are you waiting for, tardy George?

Are you waiting for your hair to turn,Your heart to soften, your bowels to yearnA little more toward "our Southern friends,"As at home and abroad they work their ends?"Our Southern friends!" whom you hold so dearThat you do no harm and give no fear,As you tenderly take them by the gorge—What are you waiting for, tardy George?

Now that you've marshalled your whole command,Planned what you would, and changed what you planned;Practised with shot and practised with shell,Know to a hair where every one fell,Made signs by day and signals by night;Was it all done to keep out of a fight?Is the whole matter too heavy a charge?What are you waiting for, tardy George?

Shall we have more speeches, more reviews?Or are you waiting to hear the news;To hold up your hands in mute surprise,When France and England shall "recognize"?Are you too grand to fight traitors small?Must you have a nation to cope withal?Well, hammer the anvil and blow the forge—You'll soon have a dozen, tardy George.

Suppose for a moment, George, my friend—Just for a moment—you condescendTo use the means that are in your hands,The eager muskets and guns and brands;Take one bold step on the Southern sod,And leave the issue to watchful God!For now the nation raises its gorge,Waiting and watching you, tardy George.

I should not much wonder, George, my boy,If Stanton get in his head a toy,And some fine morning, ere you are out,He send you all "to the right about"—You and Jomini, and all the crewWho think that war is nothing to doBut to drill and cypher, and hammer and forge—What are you waiting for, tardy George?

Finally, President Lincoln demanded that this great army do something, and it was decided to advance again against the Confederates at Manassas. The advance began on March 9, 1862, and when the army reached Manassas, it found that the Confederates had removed all their stores and munitions and abandoned the position. Whereupon the Grand Army marched back to the Potomac.

HOW McCLELLAN TOOK MANASSAS

[March 10, 1862]

Heard ye how the bold McClellan,He, the wether with the bell on;He, the head of all the asses—Heard ye how he took Manassas?When the Anaconda pluckyFlopped its tail in old Kentucky;When up stream the gunboats paddled,And the thieving Floyd skedaddled,Then the chief of all the assesHeard the word: Go, take Manassas!Forty brigades wait around him,Forty blatant trumpets sound him,As the pink of all the heroesSince the time of fiddling Neros."Now's the time," cry out the masses,"Show your pluck and take Manassas!"Contrabands come flocking to him:"Lo! the enemy flies—pursue him!""No," says George, "don't start a triggerOn the word of any nigger;Let no more of the rascals pass us,Iknow all about Manassas."When at last a prowling Yankee—No doubt long, and lean, and lanky—Looking out for new devices,Took the wooden guns as prizes,Says he: "I sweow, ere daylight passesI'll take a peep at famed Manassas."Then up to the trenches boldlyMarched he—they received him coldly;Nary reb was there to stop him.Gathering courage, in he passes:"Jerusalem! I've took Manassas."Bold McClellan heard the story:"Onward, men, to fields of glory;Let us show the rebel foemen,When we'reREADYwe're not slow, men;Wait no more for springing grasses—Onward! onward! to Manassas!"Baggage trains were left behind him,In his eagerness to find them;Upward the balloons ascended,To see which way the rebels trended;Thirty miles away his glassesSwept the horizon round Manassas.Out of sight, the foe, retreating,Answered back no hostile greeting;None could tell, as off he paddled,Whitherward he had skedaddled.Then the chief of all the assesCried: "Hurrah! I've got Manassas."Future days will tell the wonder,How the mighty AnacondaLay supine along the border,With the mighty Mac to lord her:Tell on shaft and storied brassesHow he took the famed Manassas.

Heard ye how the bold McClellan,He, the wether with the bell on;He, the head of all the asses—Heard ye how he took Manassas?

When the Anaconda pluckyFlopped its tail in old Kentucky;When up stream the gunboats paddled,And the thieving Floyd skedaddled,Then the chief of all the assesHeard the word: Go, take Manassas!

Forty brigades wait around him,Forty blatant trumpets sound him,As the pink of all the heroesSince the time of fiddling Neros."Now's the time," cry out the masses,"Show your pluck and take Manassas!"

Contrabands come flocking to him:"Lo! the enemy flies—pursue him!""No," says George, "don't start a triggerOn the word of any nigger;Let no more of the rascals pass us,Iknow all about Manassas."

When at last a prowling Yankee—No doubt long, and lean, and lanky—Looking out for new devices,Took the wooden guns as prizes,Says he: "I sweow, ere daylight passesI'll take a peep at famed Manassas."

Then up to the trenches boldlyMarched he—they received him coldly;Nary reb was there to stop him.Gathering courage, in he passes:"Jerusalem! I've took Manassas."

Bold McClellan heard the story:"Onward, men, to fields of glory;Let us show the rebel foemen,When we'reREADYwe're not slow, men;Wait no more for springing grasses—Onward! onward! to Manassas!"

Baggage trains were left behind him,In his eagerness to find them;Upward the balloons ascended,To see which way the rebels trended;Thirty miles away his glassesSwept the horizon round Manassas.

Out of sight, the foe, retreating,Answered back no hostile greeting;None could tell, as off he paddled,Whitherward he had skedaddled.Then the chief of all the assesCried: "Hurrah! I've got Manassas."

Future days will tell the wonder,How the mighty AnacondaLay supine along the border,With the mighty Mac to lord her:Tell on shaft and storied brassesHow he took the famed Manassas.

McClellan, meanwhile, had decided that the proper way to take Richmond was to remove his army to Fortress Monroe and advance up the peninsula. The change of base was accomplished by April 3, 1862, and the advance began, the army encountering no obstacle save almost impassable mud. McClellan, however, firmly believed that an immense force of Confederates was massed before him and proceeded so cautiously that he scarcely moved at all, and the impatience of the people deepened into anger and disgust.

WANTED—A MAN

Back from the trebly crimsoned fieldTerrible words are thunder-tost;Full of the wrath that will not yield,Full of revenge for battles lost!Hark to their echo, as it crostThe Capital, making faces wan:"End this murderous holocaust;Abraham Lincoln, give us aMAN!"Give us a man of God's own mould,Born to marshal his fellow-men;One whose fame is not bought and soldAt the stroke of a politician's pen;Give us the man of thousands ten,Fit to do as well as to plan;Give us a rallying-cry, and then,Abraham Lincoln, give us aMAN!"No leader to shirk the boasting foe,And to march and countermarch our brave,Till they fall like ghosts in the marshes low,And swamp-grass covers each nameless grave;Nor another, whose fatal banners waveAye in Disaster's shameful van;Nor another, to bluster, and lie, and rave;—Abraham Lincoln, give us aMAN!"Hearts are mourning in the North,While the sister rivers seek the main,Red with our life-blood flowing forth—Who shall gather it up again?Though we march to the battle-plainFirmly as when the strife began,Shall all our offering be in vain?—Abraham Lincoln, give us aMAN!"Is there never one in all the land,One on whose might the Cause may lean?Are all the common ones so grand,And all the titled ones so mean?What if your failure may have beenIn trying to make good bread from bran,From worthless metal a weapon keen?—Abraham Lincoln, find us aMAN!"Oh, we will follow him to the death,Where the foeman's fiercest columns are!Oh, we will use our latest breath,Cheering for every sacred star!His to marshal us high and far;Ours to battle, as patriots canWhen a Hero leads the Holy War!—Abraham Lincoln, give us aMAN!"Edmund Clarence Stedman.

"Give us a man of God's own mould,Born to marshal his fellow-men;One whose fame is not bought and soldAt the stroke of a politician's pen;Give us the man of thousands ten,Fit to do as well as to plan;Give us a rallying-cry, and then,Abraham Lincoln, give us aMAN!

"No leader to shirk the boasting foe,And to march and countermarch our brave,Till they fall like ghosts in the marshes low,And swamp-grass covers each nameless grave;Nor another, whose fatal banners waveAye in Disaster's shameful van;Nor another, to bluster, and lie, and rave;—Abraham Lincoln, give us aMAN!

"Hearts are mourning in the North,While the sister rivers seek the main,Red with our life-blood flowing forth—Who shall gather it up again?Though we march to the battle-plainFirmly as when the strife began,Shall all our offering be in vain?—Abraham Lincoln, give us aMAN!

"Is there never one in all the land,One on whose might the Cause may lean?Are all the common ones so grand,And all the titled ones so mean?What if your failure may have beenIn trying to make good bread from bran,From worthless metal a weapon keen?—Abraham Lincoln, find us aMAN!

"Oh, we will follow him to the death,Where the foeman's fiercest columns are!Oh, we will use our latest breath,Cheering for every sacred star!His to marshal us high and far;Ours to battle, as patriots canWhen a Hero leads the Holy War!—Abraham Lincoln, give us aMAN!"

Edmund Clarence Stedman.

Finally, after infinite preparation, McClellan's batteries were ready to open on the Confederate works at Yorktown, but on May 4, 1862, it was discovered that the works had been abandoned. Hooker's and Kearny's cavalry began a vigorous pursuit of the Confederates, caught up with them at Williamsburg and captured the works there, after a severe engagement.

THE GALLANT FIGHTING "JOE"

[May 4, 5, 1862]

From Yorktown on the fourth of MayThe rebels did skedaddle,And to pursue them on their wayBrave Hooker took the saddle."I'll lead you on, brave boys," he said,"Where danger points the way;"And drawing forth his shining blade,"Move onward!" he did say.Chorus—Then we'll shout hurrah for Hooker, boys,The gallant fighting Joe;We'll follow him with heart and hand,Wherever he does go."Forward, March!" then was the wordThat passed from front to rear,When all the men with one accordGave a loud and hearty cheer.And then with Hooker at our head,We marched in order good,Till darkness all around us spread,When we lay down in the wood.Early next morn by break of day,The rain in torrents fell;"This day," brave Hooker he did say,"Your valor it will tell.Williamsburg is very near,Be steady every man,Let every heart be filled with cheer,And I will take the van."The gallant Massachusetts menFought well and nobly, too,As did the men from good old Penn.,And Jersey, ever true,And Sickles' men like lions brave,Their courage did display,For gallantly they did behaveOn the battle-field that day.The men from Mass. and good old Penn.That morn the fight began,And like true, noble-hearted men,Most nobly they did stand.When Jersey's sons, the bold, the brave,Not fearing lead nor steel,Their gallant comrades for to save,Dashed boldly to the field.By every means the rebels soughtTo stand the Jerseys' fire,But soon for them it was too hot,And they quickly did retire.But getting reënforced againWith numbers very great,The gallant band of JerseymenWere forced for to retreat."Now, Sickles' men," Hooker did say,"Move out to the advance;If you your courage would display,Now you have got a chance.The foe have forced us to give way,They number six to one,But still, my lads, we'll gain the day,And I will lead you on."Excelsior then the foremost stood,Not knowing dread nor fear,And met the rebels in the woods,With a loud and hearty cheer.Volley after volley flew,Like hail the balls did fly,And Hooker cried: "My heroes true,We'll conquer or we'll die."Our ammunition being gone,Brave Hooker then did say:"Reënforcements fast are coming on,My lads, do not give way.Keep good your ground, our only chanceIs t' remain upon the field.And if the rebels dare advance,We'll meet them with the steel."'Twas then brave Kearny did appear,Who ne'er to foe would yield,To him we gave a hearty cheer,As he rushed on the field."Now, charge! my lads," then Hooker cried,"Our work will soon be done,For with brave Kearny by our side,The rebels we'll make run."And since that time we all do knowThe battles he hath won;He beat the rebels at Bristow,And chased them to Bull Run;And had we a few more loyal menLike the gallant fighting "Joe,"The war would soon be at an end,Then home we all would go.Singing, hurrah, hurrah, for Hooker's boys,The gallant Fighting Joe,We'll follow him with heart and hand,Wherever he does go.James Stevenson.

"Forward, March!" then was the wordThat passed from front to rear,When all the men with one accordGave a loud and hearty cheer.And then with Hooker at our head,We marched in order good,Till darkness all around us spread,When we lay down in the wood.

Early next morn by break of day,The rain in torrents fell;"This day," brave Hooker he did say,"Your valor it will tell.Williamsburg is very near,Be steady every man,Let every heart be filled with cheer,And I will take the van."

The gallant Massachusetts menFought well and nobly, too,As did the men from good old Penn.,And Jersey, ever true,And Sickles' men like lions brave,Their courage did display,For gallantly they did behaveOn the battle-field that day.

The men from Mass. and good old Penn.That morn the fight began,And like true, noble-hearted men,Most nobly they did stand.When Jersey's sons, the bold, the brave,Not fearing lead nor steel,Their gallant comrades for to save,Dashed boldly to the field.

By every means the rebels soughtTo stand the Jerseys' fire,But soon for them it was too hot,And they quickly did retire.But getting reënforced againWith numbers very great,The gallant band of JerseymenWere forced for to retreat.

"Now, Sickles' men," Hooker did say,"Move out to the advance;If you your courage would display,Now you have got a chance.The foe have forced us to give way,They number six to one,But still, my lads, we'll gain the day,And I will lead you on."

Excelsior then the foremost stood,Not knowing dread nor fear,And met the rebels in the woods,With a loud and hearty cheer.Volley after volley flew,Like hail the balls did fly,And Hooker cried: "My heroes true,We'll conquer or we'll die."

Our ammunition being gone,Brave Hooker then did say:"Reënforcements fast are coming on,My lads, do not give way.Keep good your ground, our only chanceIs t' remain upon the field.And if the rebels dare advance,We'll meet them with the steel."

'Twas then brave Kearny did appear,Who ne'er to foe would yield,To him we gave a hearty cheer,As he rushed on the field."Now, charge! my lads," then Hooker cried,"Our work will soon be done,For with brave Kearny by our side,The rebels we'll make run."

And since that time we all do knowThe battles he hath won;He beat the rebels at Bristow,And chased them to Bull Run;And had we a few more loyal menLike the gallant fighting "Joe,"The war would soon be at an end,Then home we all would go.

Singing, hurrah, hurrah, for Hooker's boys,The gallant Fighting Joe,We'll follow him with heart and hand,Wherever he does go.

James Stevenson.

The advance continued slowly, and on May 31, 1862, a portion of the army reached Fair Oaks. Here the Confederates attacked with force, and would have won a decisive victory but for the timely arrival of dashing "Phil" Kearny, who rallied the Union forces, led them forward, and swept the Confederates from the field.

KEARNY AT SEVEN PINES

[May 31, 1862]

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