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Wiley Britton, Memoirs of the Rebellion on the Border 1863., Chapter 1: (search)
remained however with a division of cavalry in the vicinity of the battle field a short time the next day, and sent a flag of truce to Gens. Blunt and Herron concerning the picking up of arms on the field, the burying of the dead and caring for the wounded. Our victory was complete. The defeat of the enemy was a severe blow to the Confederate cause west of the Mississippi. Gen. Hindman is reported to have boasted that his horse should drink out of the Missouri river or from the rivers of Pluto's regions before Christmas. The morning before leaving Van Buren, he issued a flaming address to his troops to inspire them with courage and hope, and in it, in speaking of the Federal troops, he went on to say, they have desolated your homes, defiled the graves of your kindred, etc. A copy of this address I picked up on the field beside a dead Confederate soldier, and presume it was printed and distributed among the rebel troops. This bombastic display of oratory may have had some effect
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 5. (ed. Frank Moore), Traitorous and incendiary Legends. (search)
visiting the chosen pinks at Yorktown. Southern hearts are beating low; Manassas boasters shun the foe; Stars and Stripes shall wave again; Northerners tread this ebon main. On E. B. Spence & Co.'s west wall: Something new under the sun, to wit: Petticoat Gunboats. Nationals! unfurl your banners over Yorktown walls. On the Powhatan House south wall: Southern boasters grasp the dust, In the Lord you vainly trust, For the Lord you fain would cheat With halcyon lips and Pluto's feet. The cry is still they come. Also a copy of the apparently favorite lines: Southern hearts are beating low. On Binford & Porter's west wall: On Yorktown Heights the cry is still they come. Change your bells into cannon, and charge with confe---, here the midnight scribe appears to have been interrupted in his work, most probably by the watchman on his way to extinguish the lamps at the corner. At an early hour of the day all these ribald inscriptions, exc
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 8. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 78 (search)
scribed 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 incandescence, 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. On 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.
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 9. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), The infantry of the army of Northern Virginia. (search)
hey are, around a camp-fire in the army of Northern Virginia one cold and cheerless night towards the close of 1861, from the lips of a gallant infantry officer now dead on the field of glory. They will not be on this account the less appropriate to this occasion: When the black-lettered list to the gods was presented, The list of what Fate for each mortal intends; At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented, And slipped in three blessings-wife, children and friends. In vain surly Pluto maintained he was cheated, For justice divine could not compass its ends, The scheme of man's penance he swore was defeated, Since earth becomes heaven with wife, children and friends. If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands vested, The fund ill secured oft in bankruptcy ends-- But the heart issues bills which are never protested, When drawn on the firm of wife, children and friends. Though valor still burns in his life's dying embers, The death-wounded tar who his colors defends, D
Harper's Encyclopedia of United States History (ed. Benson Lossing), Corwin, Thomas 1794-1865 (search)
ily engaged during the bloody conflict, amid the crash of falling houses, the groans of the dying, and the wild shriek of battle, in carrying water to slake the burning thirst of the wounded of either host. While bending over a wounded American soldier, a cannon ball struck her and blew her to atoms. Sir, I do not charge my brave, generous-hearted countrymen who fought that fight with this. No, no! We who send them—we who know that scenes like this, which might send tears of sorrow down Pluto's iron cheek, are the invariable, inevitable attendants on war— we are accountable for this. And this— this is the way we are to be made known to Europe. This—this is to be the undying renown of free, republican America! She has stormed a city—killed many of its inhabitants of both sexes— she has room! So it will read. Sir, if this were our only history, then may God of his mercy grant that its volume may speedily come to a close. Why is it, sir, that we of the United States, a
L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion, Pauline Cushman, the celebrated Union spy and scout of the Army of the Cumberland. (search)
ir usual mysterious manner. Ushers began to call out the numbers of seats, and to slam the doors in their wonted style. The call-boy flew here and there, and at last, in obedience to the prompter's bell, the curtain began to rise, discovering Mr. Pluto at breakfast, within the shades of Hades. There was, however, a veritable Pluto to burst upon them, that they wot not of. This was coming. In the meantime, the jokes and mirth of the Seven sisters were more than ordinarily relished. It may hPluto to burst upon them, that they wot not of. This was coming. In the meantime, the jokes and mirth of the Seven sisters were more than ordinarily relished. It may have been that those in the secret were so delighted at the prospect of seeing the Federal authorities thus wantonly insulted, that they greeted every thing with rapture, and that this became contagious among the good Union people of the house, who .f course, were ignorant of the joke. At length the critical moment arrived, and advancing in her theatrical costume to the foot lights, our heroine, goblet in hand, gave, in a clear, ringing voice, the following toast: Here's to Jeff. Davis and
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 2, Chapter 21: Germany.—October, 1839, to March, 1840.—Age, 28-29. (search)
building is truly beautiful. There is a sculptor here with a hard German name, who is no mean artist; but as for Cornelius Peter von Cornelius, 1787-1867. He devoted himself to fresco painting. the painter, who has already done whole acres of fresco, I don't like him. There is such a predominance of brick-dust in his coloring and such sameness in his countenances, as to tire one soon. One of his large frescos is Orpheus In the Glyptothek demanding, begging I should say, Eurydice of Pluto. Every thing stands still at the sound of his lyre. Cerberus lies quiet at his feet; he is of the bull-dog breed, with a smooth skin, a snake for a tail, with the hissing mouth at the end, another snake wound round the neck, ears and head smooth, totally unlike Ponto; the whole body extended on the ground, fore-legs as well as hind-legs, one head fast asleep, the next on the ground, eyes half open, the next raised and gaping. I write this for Crawford. They have the sense here to admire
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Harvard Memorial Biographies, 1841. (search)
wls in the night; all the rest of the feathered tribe have been frightened off by the laying bare to the glare of the sun their ancient shady retreats, where the woods were all felled, or by the firing of artillery and the rattle of drums. No ox or cow can live anywhere this side the Potomac, in presence of the interminable camps of the grand army. On the Maryland side of the river there are many vistas of thick, green foliage in the dim distance; but all on this side is devoted to Mars or Pluto, and is appropriated to the one purpose of furnishing a great battle-field on which two hundred thousand men can decide with the sword the issues of this war. All smooth and level places have been scarred and dug in every direction with earthworks and defences, or have been trampled bare of every vestige of vegetation by the marching and manoeuvring of regiments and batteries. Every hill-top has been stripped and cleared, and crowned with the inevitable fort; and every road has been bared o
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), V. Conversations in Boston. (search)
stroying Pentheus, &c., and suggested the interpretations. This Bacchus was found in Scripture. The Indian Bacchus is glowing; he is the genial apprehensive power; the glow of existence; mere joy. Venus was Grecian womanhood, instinctive; Diana, chastity; Mars, Grecian manhood, instinctive. Venus made the name for a conversation on Beauty, which was extended through four meetings, as it brought in irresistibly the related topics of poetry, genius, and taste. Neptune was Circumstance; Pluto, the Abyss, the Undeveloped; Pan, the glow and sportiveness and music of Nature; Ceres, the productive power of Nature; Proserpine, the Phenomenon. Under the head of Venus, in the fifth conversation, the story of Cupid and Psyche was told with fitting beauty, by Margaret; and many fine conjectural interpretations suggested from all parts of the room. The ninth conversation turned on the distinctive qualities of poetry, discriminating it from the other fine arts. Rhythm and Imagery, it w
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), VI. Jamaica Plain. (search)
e bore a rose, a second a branch of myrtle, a third dice;—who can read that riddle Better is it, said Appollonius, on entering a small shrine to find there a statue of gold and ivory, than in a large temple to behold only a coarse figure of terra cotta. How often, after leaving with disgust the so-called great affairs of men, do we find traces of angels visits in quiet scenes of home. The Hours and the Graces appear as ornaments on all thrones and shrines, except those of Vulcan and Pluto. Alas for us, when we become so sunk in utilitarian toil as to be blind to the beauty with which even common cares are daily wreathed! And so on and on, with myth and allusion. Next, Margaret spoke of the friends whose generosity had provided the decorations on her walls, and the illustrated books for her table,—friends who were fellowstudents in art, history, or science,—friends whose very life she shared. Her heart seemed full to overflow with sympathy for their joys and sorrows, <
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