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n not, Except with thy duty performed; Till the season is turned into summer, And the last rebel stronghold is stormed. Let no knitting of mine be surrendered On a soldier afraid of the fight, Or be dropped by the way, or borne homeward, In some needless and panic-struck flight. The swift-rolling ball in my basket, Like destiny seems to unwind; One vision comes up as I widen, And one as I narrow and bind. Shall my sock be sent off to Missouri, For some of our brave Western boys? Or down to Port Royal and Beaufort, Where Sherman is making a noise? Or off to the old sea-girt Fortress,-- Or where, on Potomac's bright shore, There are regiments drilling and waiting For the word to go forward once more. Perchance this soft fabric, when finished, May cherish an invalid's foot; Or, in some wild scamper of horsemen, Lie hid in a cavalry boot. Perchance it may be taken prisoner, And down into Rebeldom borne; Peradventure — alas! the poor stocking-- It may by some rebel be worn! It may be cut
st, as it always must, When leaders are brave, and a cause is just And ours the cause of the nation. And thus we went — the hurricane's breath Was felt in our track, like the blast of death, But we had no thought of turning; Onward and onward the good fleet sped, Locked in its breast the secret dread, To break in gloom over treason's head, Where — we should soon be learning. But brave Dupont and Sherman knew Where the bolt should light, and each gallant crew Was ready to heed their orders. Port Royal, Ho!--and a bright warm day, We made the land many miles away, And sullenly there before us lay Fierce Carolina's borders. The mystery was all compassed then, And the hearts of sea-sick, weary men, Cheered up, the prospect viewing; There is that grit in the human mind, However gentle, or good, or kind, That is always to double its fist inclined, When near where a fight is brewing. The rebel guns waked a fearful note From our rifled cannon's open throat, And our shells flew fast and steady.
47. the Captain of the gun. Thomas Wilson, Captain of a gun on board the steam frigate Wabash, killed in the action at Port Royal. by Charles D. Gardette. He never trod the quarter-deck In pride of high command; No gold on his broad shoulders gleamed, No rapier graced his hand; But a braver captain of a gun Did ne'er by trunnion stand! He had, perchance, but little grace Of learning, or of mien; His conscience and his gun, he thought His duty lay between. And with his utmost skill he strove Alike to keep them clean. He fought as fight Columbia's tars, Her ensign overhead; Her clear eye o'er his smoking gun A cheery radiance shed. A shell crashed through the port; oh God! His limb hung by a shred. I tell you, had the Jarls of old Beheld the hero then, Their beards had gleamed with tears of pride-- Those iron-hearted men! And all Valhalla's warrior halls Had rung with shouts again. He crawled the bulwark near; his eye With coming death was dim; He drew his clasp-knife forth, as dea
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), A rebel Burlesque on General Sherman's proclamation. (search)
A rebel Burlesque on General Sherman's proclamation. Port Royal, Camp Loaves and Fishes. To the Loyal Ladies of the Sea Island:-- Having been long familiar with your soft feather beds, well-supplied tables, beautiful flowers, and hospitable smiles, more charming even than your fish and game, we entreat you, with every assurance of our most tender regard, to come and partake of some of the delicacies which we have appropriated by a military necessity. It really grieves our loving hearts to live on the fat of your land while you are houseless, particularly when we have so often boasted of your hospitality, and been your honored guests, year after year, without money and without price. If you decline this affectionate overture remember that we are cognizant to every creek and every corner in your larders; we know all your little rivers of milk and honey, the small hillocks of fresh butter, and the promontories of orange preserve jars, and we will appropriate them all to t
ourt, who had visited France, and was now returned with supplies, renewed the design; but meeting with disasters on the shoals of Cape Cod, he, too, returned to Port Royal. Thus the first settlement on the American Continent had been made--two years before James River was discovered, and three years before a cabin had been raised in Canada. The name of Dupont in connection with a naval expedition at Port Royal, in 1605, and with another and greater two hundred and fifty years later, is one of those curious coincidences in which the muse of history loves to indulge. If the first had succeeded in his efforts to possess the New England shores, who can telss the New England shores, who can tell what would have been the effect upon the destinies of this continent? If the second had failed in entering Port Royal harbor, how differently the future annals of the Republic might read! If Port Royal menaced New England in 1605, the tables have been turned in 1861.--Philadelphia Press.
Precautions on the Southern coast.--The following letter, explaining the necessity for keeping the Parish Guards in South Carolina at home, was found in the rebel camp at Port Royal: State of South Carolina, Headquarters, May 24, 1861. to Capt. Stephen Elliott, Jr.--dear sir: In reply to yours of the 17th to the Governor, I am directed to say that the reason why the Sea Coast an Parish companies have not been called into service here, has been because it was distinctly understood to be the desire of the Parishes that their companies should remain to guard and protect their coast, and to keep up a strict police where the negroes were so numerous; for this purpose sabres were given to them — the cavalry — and not given to the up-country companies. Your local companies were required for immediate protection. The Governor begs me to assure you must positively and distinctly, that that was the only reason the Parish companies were not called into service here, and as a matter
.--Richmond Dispatch, Nov. 28. Buchanan no more.--A town named Buchanan, in La Crosse County, Wis., recently petitioned to have its name changed to Washington, on account of the disgrace attached to the name of Buchanan, and their petition was unanimously granted.--Cincinnati Gazette, Dec. 11. A Yankee proposition.--Messrs. Ellis, Britton, and Eaton, of Springfield, Vt., make the following proposition to the Administration: 1. If they will confiscate the estates of rebels near Port Royal, to the extent of ten thousand acres, we will lease the land from them, and take five thousand contrabands as apprentices to work it, on the following terms: 1. To the Government we will give, for the use of the land, one-fourth part of each crop, or its market value in specie. 2. To the negroes we will give three months attendance at school each year for all those over five and under thirty years of age, with good teachers and a sufficient supply of books, both for school and for re
Retribution.--A letter from a private in the Seventy-ninth Highlanders, discloses an instance of just retribution which fell on an earnest traitor who should have been hung months ago. It will be remembered that in the early part of summer a man employed in the Washington navy yard was discovered filling shells with sand instead of the proper material. This man had received a medical education, and on his escape within the rebel lines resumed the practice of his profession. When the Seventy-ninth landed at Port Royal, the first sight which greeted them on entering the hospital was this man seated at a table, with a splendid case of surgical instruments before him, his left arm resting naturally upon the table and the position of his body indicating perfect ease, but upon a closer examination it was discovered that the entire upper portion of his head had been cut away, from the crown to the back of his neck, by a cannon ball.--N. Y. Commercial, Dec. 2.
93. at Port Royal--1861. by J. G. Whittier. The tent-lights glimmer on the land, The ship-lights on the sea; The night-wind smooths with drifting sand Our track on lone Tybee. At last our grating keels outslide, Our good boats forward swing; And while we ride the land-locked tide, Our negroes row and sing. For dear the bondman holds his gifts Of music and of song: The gold that kindly Nature sifts Among his sands of wrong; The power to make his toiling days And poor home-comforts please; The quaint relief of mirth that plays With sorrow's minor keys. Another glow than sunset's fire Has filled the West with light, Where field and garner, barn and byre, Are blazing through the night. The land is wild with fear and hate, The rout runs mad and fast; From hand to hand, from gate to gate, The flaming brand is passed. The lurid glow falls strong across Dark faces broad with smiles; Not theirs the terror, hate, and loss, That fire yon blazing piles. With oar-strokes timing to their song,
a and the rose, And the spicy air so sweet as it flows, When flowers their incense burn. Part II.--the battle. VII. 'Twas a fair scene — a grand, enchanting view; Yet o'er that land, from fort to fortress, flew A traitor's banner, while a rebel crew In arms each fortress holds. Not there the brave, bright, starry flag might float, Cast its broad shield o'er rampart and o'er moat, Nor Freedom's battery, from its iron throat, Salute the spangled folds. VIII. Fair glanced the day along Port Royal's tide, Glanced o'er embattled forts on either side, Where Hilton Head and Low Bay Point defied The armada of the free; A martial show, that vast, invading fleet! When rose their flag, when mustering-drums were beat; When rang the cheer that all the shores repeat, Re-echoing o'er the sea! IX. Black men-of-war, their decks array'd for fight; Vast transports, glittering with battalions bright; Gunboats and steamships--'twas a gallant sight-- A panorama grand! Each ship, like wrestler, strip