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Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 1. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), Address before the Mecklenburg (N. C.) Historical Society . (search)
Thomas C. DeLeon, Four years in Rebel capitals: an inside view of life in the southern confederacy, from birth to death., Chapter 8 : New Orleans, the Crescent city . (search)
Varina Davis, Jefferson Davis: Ex-President of the Confederate States of America, A Memoir by his Wife, Volume 1, Chapter 21 : Mr. Davis 's first session in Congress. (search)
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events, Diary from December 17, 1860 - April 30, 1864 (ed. Frank Moore), 1861 , September (search)
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events, Diary from December 17, 1860 - April 30, 1864 (ed. Frank Moore), 1861 , October (search)
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events, Diary from December 17, 1860 - April 30, 1864 (ed. Frank Moore), 1861 , November (search)
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events, Diary from December 17, 1860 - April 30, 1864 (ed. Frank Moore), 1862 , February (search)
February 14.
The Ninety-third regiment of New York Volunteers, (Morgan Rifles,) under the command of Colonel John T. Crocker, left Albany for the scene of active service.
The regiment embraces three companies from Washington county, two from Warren, one from Essex, one from Saratoga, Fulton and Hamilton, one from Oneida and Albany, one from Alleghany, and one from Rensselaer.
There are five full companies of sharpshooters, and a large proportion of the other companies are good shots.
Colonel Crocker is a lawyer by profession, and a native of Cambridge, Washington county.
He was for a long time Colonel of the Thirtieth regiment N. Y.S. M.
In the British House of Lords, in reply to a question from the Earl of Stanhope concerning the stone blockade at Charleston, S. C., Earl Russell spoke as follows, declaring his approval of that measure:
He said the government had no official information on this subject subsequent to that which had already been laid on the table of
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 7. (ed. Frank Moore), Fail! (search)
Fail! by A. P. Mccombs. Fail!
who dares to utter such a thought, With heritage so dearly bought; What!
twenty millions freemen fail, Who do and dare, whose hearts ne'er quail, Whose cause is just and must prevail O'er every foe? Fail!
with millions spent, with thousands slain, With all our tears, with all our pains, With all we've lost, with all we've won? By Fredericksburgh!
by Donelson! By heaven, no! Fail!
never while a Bunker Hill, Or Cowpens field is whispering still, Or Saratoga's frowning peak, Or Brandywine's red flowing creek, With Yorktown battlements still speak Of glorious deeds. We cannot drop a single star, While Italy looks to us afar, While Poland lives, while Ireland hopes, While Afric's son in slavery gropes, And silent pleads. Fail!
never breathe such burning shame, Sell not your birthright or your name, He's sure a coward or a knave Who'd heap dishonor on the grave Of all the host of martyred brave, For liberty. What!
twenty millions freemen fail, Whose
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 7. (ed. Frank Moore), A battle poem. (search)
A battle poem. by Benj. F. Taylor. Break up camp, drowsy World! For the shrouds are unfurled, And the dead drummers beat the long roll through the morn, And the bugle-blown orders Invade the dumb borders Where the grave-digger dreamed he had laid them forlorn. From old Saratoga, From old Ticonderoga, From Bennington, Bunker, and Lexington Green, They have marched back sublime To the sentries of time, And have passed on triumphant, unchallenged between! I can hear the flint-locks,-- The old click of the clocks That timed Liberty's step to no pendulum swing! When the bullets all sped, Woman smilingly said, “Let us charm the dull weights till they fly and they sing!” Ah!
those old blackened ladles Where Glory's own cradles! Rocked a red-coat to sleep with each birth from the mould, And the old fashioned-fire Blazed hotter and higher, Till it welded the New World and walled out the Old. By battalions they come, To the snarl of the drum! Bleeding feet that turn beautiful, printing