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Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 1. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 501 (search)
eaten him black and blue, but had slashed his arms and body with their knives. He was the worst object I ever saw. This man was making collections in the South for a Philadelphia house, and such was the payment received from Southern creditors. The game of the villains is about up here. Every traitor who makes his appearance is arrested. We have one dirty dog from Columbus, Ky., under arrest, who was one of the seventy-five who took turns in lashing a man because lie would not shout for Jeff: Davis's flag. Mr. Chivalry is very penitent, and he don't hear a pistol shot but he imagines it is for him. This beauty came here to see what the damned abolitionists were doing, and was recognized by the victim, who reached Cairo before. Victim wanted an even show with Chivalry at any kind of a fight, and said if lie did not kill him, he would submit to be hung the next minute. Chivalry did not want to fight — there were not odds enough — it was not seventy-five to one. If Gen. Prentiss
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 1. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 514 (search)
perceives her nigger, As black as the ace of spades. “Nigger, my high-priced nigger, Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledee; Nigger, my high-priced nigger, What tidings do you bring?” ”O Gorra, missus, de tidin's, Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledee; O Gorra, missus, de tidin's, Dey'll make yer lily eyes weep. ”Took off yer summer muslin, Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledee; Took off yer summer muslin, Also yer more anteek. ”Massa Jeff. is done gone dead, Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledee; Mass Jeff. is done gone dead, Dead an' buried, shu-ah! ”I seed him shove in de ground, Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledee; I seed him shove in de ground, By de Abolitioners! ”One follored wid his message, Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledee; One follored wid his message, Anoder wid his letters ob Mark. ”One carried his dyina ‘fession, Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledee; One carried his dyina ‘fession, Anoder some ‘Fed'rate bond's. ”Dey hung him on de gallus, Tweedledum, tweedledum, twe
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 4. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 96 (search)
ter determined, although the rebel force somewhat exceeded his own, to charge upon them; and placing himself at the head of his own and Capt. Noleman's commands, led them in a dashing charge toward the foe. As he neared them, however, the heart of Jeff. failed him, and wildly delivering one scattering volley, which went far over the heads of our men, he and his command turned tail and fled. Our cavalry closely pursued them, and there ensued a scene which has scarcely been equalled since the damall arms, our men captured six prisoners, two of whom were officers, and killed and wounded several of the enemy, besides most effectually dispersing them. It was reported afterward by prisoners taken in the fort at the time of its capture, that Jeff. entered the town at a tearing gallop, his horse almost exhausted by the race, and immediately applied to Col. Gautt, commanding the post, for two regiments of infantry and a field-battery, to go out and give battle to the audacious Federals. On
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 4. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 187 (search)
Old Fuss and Feathers” could not save them, All their boasting was in vain, Before the Southern steel they cowered, And their bodies strewed the plain. So let the Yankees, etc. The “Maryland Line” was there as ever, With their battle-shout and blade, They shed new lustre on their mother, When that final charge they made. So let the Yankees, etc. Old Abe may make another effort, For to take his onward way, But his legions then as ever, Will be forced to run away. So let the Yankees, etc. Brave Jeff. and glorious Beauregard, With dashing Johnston, noble, true, Will meet their hireling hosts again, And scatter them like morning dew. So let the Yankees, etc. When the Hessian horde is driven, O'er Potomac's classic flood, The pulses of a new-born freedom, Then will stir old Maryland's blood. So let the Yankees, etc. From the lofty Alleghanies, To old Worcester's sea-washed shore, Her sons will come to greet the victors, There in good old Baltimore. So let the Yankees, etc. Then with voices<
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 4. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 301 (search)
dows' and the orphans' tears, Shed for the slain to-day: The blood of all those gallant braves, Whom Southern traitors slew, Cry sternly, from their loyal graves, For vengeance upon you; And, if you're not prepared to die The death of Haman, fly, Jeff — fly! Fly, traitor, to some lonely niche, Far, far beyond the billow; Thy grave an ill-constructed ditch-- Thy sexton General Pillow. There may you turn to rottenness, By mortal unannoyed, Your ashes undisturbed, unless Your grave is known to Floyd. He'll surely trouble your repose, And come to steal your burial-clothes. Epitaph. Pause for an instant, loyal reader. Here lies Jeff, the great seceder. Above, he always lied, you know, And now the traitor lies below. His bow was furnished with two strings, He flattered crowds and fawned on kings; Repaid his country's care with evil, And prayed to God, and served the devil. The South could whip the Yankee nation, So he proposed humiliation! Their blessings were so everlasting, 'Twas ju
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 5. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 80 (search)
ack again, the right falls back, and then marches to the left. Secesh sees this and is exalted. He takes another swig at his canteen of whisky, (a thing which they are all well braced with, for canteens of whisky are found on all the killed and wounded,) tightens the straps around his legs, (for he has to be strapped, lest he fall out of the saddle,) and rushes forward on our lines head foremost, only to be mowed down by our left wing, that had marched to the place of the right. Of course, Jeff did not see this. He thinks he is following our retreating troops, but he finds his drunken army pitching on to advancing bayonets. They cannot stop. Onward they fling, like madmen, and once broken, they cannot be rallied. Secesh has found that McClellan has retreated far enough. The action was a magnificent one. When the rebel lines had been completely broken, and filled up by Smith, Corney, (sic) McCall, Sumner, and Meagher, with his Irish bayonets, the gunboats pitched into Fort Darl
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 5. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 5 (search)
, (For things weren't going very straight,) There sat that awful potentate King Jeff, the great secesher; He looked exceedingly forlorn, Harassed and vexed, annoyed and worn; 'Twas plain his office didn't return Much profit or much pleasure. Says Jeff (he thus soliloquized:) ”This isn't quite as I surmised; It really cannot be disguised, The thing is getting risky: Winchester, Donelson, Roanoke, Pea Ridge, Port Royal, Burnside's stroke At Newbern — by the Lord, I choke!” Jeff took a drink of whJeff took a drink of whisky. “McClellan, too, and Yankee Foote; Grant, Hunter, Halleck, Farragut, With that accurst Fremont to boot;” (Right here he burst out swearing; And then, half-mad and three parts drunk, Down on his shaking knees he sunk, And prayed like any frightened monk, To ease his blank despairing.) He prayed: ”O mighty Lucifer! Than whom of all that are or were There is no spirit worthier To be our lord and master; O thou Original Secesh! Please pity our poor quaking flesh, And break this tighten
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 5. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 15 (search)
An Effusion from Jeff Thompson.--Missouri produces not only warriors, but poets, and indeed a combination of both, as witness the following from the pen of Mr. Jeff Thompson--the veritable General Jeff, who, at the head of a company of Bush-wackers, has been firing into unarmed steamboats, and picking up stray travellers in South-west Missouri for the past six months, winning from rebel journals the soubriquets of the Swamp Fox, and the Marion of the Southern revolution. It is entitled Home again, and appears in that whilom decorous newspaper, the New-Orleans Picayune: My dear wife waits my coming, My children lisp my name, And kind friends bid me welcome To my own home again. My father's grave lies on the hill, My boys sleep in the vale; I love each rock and murmuring rill, Each mountain, hill, and dale. Home again! I'll suffer hardships, toils, and pain For the good time sure to come; I'll battle long that I may gain My freedom and my home. I will return, though foes may stan
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 8. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 75 (search)
38. our money. Our treasury is furnished with rags, So thick even Jeff cannot thin 'em. Jeff's torn up his old money bags, Having nothing like cash to put in 'em. Our farmers are smashed up by dozens, But this is all nothing they say; For bankrupts, since Adam, are cousins, But 'tis all in a family way. Our debts not a shillingJeff's torn up his old money bags, Having nothing like cash to put in 'em. Our farmers are smashed up by dozens, But this is all nothing they say; For bankrupts, since Adam, are cousins, But 'tis all in a family way. Our debts not a shilling take from us, As statesmen the matter explain; Bob owes it to Tom, and then Thomas Just owes it to Bob back again. Since all thus have taken to owing, There's nobody left that can pay; And that is the way we keep going, All just in a family way. Our congressmen vote away millions To put in the huge Southern budget, And if it were billions or trillions, The generous rogues would not grudge it. 'Tis naught but a family hop, And Jeff began dancing they say-- Hands round! Why the deuce should we stop? 'Tis all in a family way. Our rich cotton-planters all tumble-- The poor ones have nothing to chew, And if they themselves do not grumble, Their stomachs undou
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 8. (ed. Frank Moore), 50. the last Star: a Reminiscence of mine run. (search)
et with gore, The separate armies lay Upon their arms that solemn night, Early to start the strife next day. Beneath a charred and shattered oak A color-sergeant lay, And many a wide and gaping wound Told of his work that day. But not alone upon the plain Was this youthful warrior left, To be butchered by some thieving band Of humanity bereft. “Squad, halt! and see who this man is.” “Friends!” the soldier yelled, ”'tis I! Color of the Fifty-ninth, And not afraid to die!“ “Here's brandy, Jeff, 'twill do you good, Then p'haps you'll know your friends; But on keeping calm and quiet now, Your recovery depends.” . . . . “Here, sergeant,” said the bleeding man, ”This star is all I've got That yet remains of that old flag, I've borne through battles hot. If I should die of this slight wound-- The trust is not misplaced-- Carry it back to those who gave, And say 'twas ne'er disgraced. ”Just there we met the Catamounts The Fourth regiment of Alabama infantry style th
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