in Baltimore I told the story of the song to my father, and at his request made immediately another copy of it. This was shown cautiously to certain members of the Maryland Club; and a trusty printer was found who struck off a dozen slips of it, principally for private distribution. That first printed copy of the song was headed “found on a Rebel Sergeant of the old Stonewall brigade, taken at Winchester.” the fabulous legend was for the misleading of the Federal provost marshal, as were also the address and date: “Martinsburg, Sept. 13, 1862.”
Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails,
Stir up the camp-fire bright;
No growling if the canteen fails,
We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong,
To swell the Brigade's rousing song
Of ‘Stonewall Jackson's way.’
We see him now—the queer slouched hat
Cocked o'er his eye askew;
The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat,
So calm, so blunt, so true.
The ‘Blue-light Elder’ knows 'em well;
Says he, ‘That's Banks—he's fond of shell;
Lord save his soul! we'll give him—’ well!
That's ‘Stonewall Jackson's way.’
Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!
Old Massa's goina to pray.
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
Attention it's his way.
Appealing from his native sod
In forma pauperis to God:
‘Lay bare Thine arm; stretch forth Thy rod!
Amen!’—That's ‘Stonewall's way.