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Tennessee (Tennessee, United States) (search for this): chapter 34
t the disgrace; But exclaim, ‘ My dear sir, I'm eternally yours, For assisting in changing my base!’ Perhaps no pen, or no brush, in all the South limned with bolder stroke the follies, or the foibles, of his own, than did that of Innes Randolph, of Stuart's Engineer staff; later to win national fame by his Good old Rebel song. Squib, picture and poem filled Randolph's letters, as brilliant flashes did his conversation. On Mr. Davis proclaiming Thanksgiving Day, after the unfortunate Tennessee campaign, Randolph versified the proclamation, section by section, as sample: For Bragg did well. Ah! who could tell What merely human mind could augur, That they would run from Lookout Mount, Who fought so well at Chickamauga! Round many a smoky camp-fire were sung clever songs, whose humor died with their gallant singers, for want of recording memories in those busy days. Latham, Caskie and Page McCarty sent out some of the best of the skits; a few verses of one by the latter's
Jackson (Mississippi, United States) (search for this): chapter 34
oggerel on some war subject. So good were a few of these hits that they astonished their unambitious authors, by appearance in the next issue of the magazine. As a record of war-humor, a few of them may be of interest at this late day. This one shows the great terror struck to the hearts of his enemies by the war-gong of General Pope: Little Be-Pope, he came at a lope, Jackson, the Rebel, to find him. He found him at last, then ran very fast, With his gallant invaders behind him! Jackson's commissary was a favorite butt for the shafts of rebel humor. Another Mother Goose thus pictures him: John Pope came down to our town And thought him wondrous wise; He jumped into a ‘skeeter swamp And started writing lies. But when he found his lies were out- With all his might and main He changed his base to another place, And began to lie again! This verse on McClellan does not go to prove that the South respected any less the humane warfare, or the tactical ability of him hi
City Point (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 34
d return to family and farm. Swallowing the obnoxious allegiance, he turned to the Federal officer and quietly asked: Wail, an' now I reck'n I'm loyil, ain't I? Oh, yes! You're all right, carelessly replied the captor. An‘ ef I'm loyil, I'm same as you 'uns? persisted the lately sworn. We're all good Union alike, eh? Oh, yes, the officer humored him. I We're all one now. Wail then, rejoined Johnny Reb slowly, didn't them darned rebs jest geen us hell sometimes? City Point, on the James river, was the landing for transports with soldiers released from northern prisons, after parole. A bustling, self-important major of United States volunteers was at one time there, in charge. One day a most woe-begone, tattered and emaciated Johnnie sat swinging his shoeless feet from a barrel, awaiting his turn. It isn't far to Richmond, suddenly remarked the smart major, to nobody in particular. Reck'n et's neer onto three thousin‘ mile, drawled the Confed. we
Europe (search for this): chapter 34
s. The society of the Capital was marked evidence of this. It preserved many epigrammatic gems; often coming from the better-and brighter-half of its composition. For Richmond women had long been noted for society ease and aplomb, as well as for quickness of wit; and now the social amalgam held stranger dames and maidens who might have shown in any salon. A friend of the writer — then a gallant staff-officer; now a grave, sedate and semi-bald counsellor — had lately returned from European capitals; and he was, of course, in envied possession of brilliant uniform and equipment. At a certain ball, his glittering blind-spurs became entangled in the flowing train of a dancing belle-one of the most brilliant of the set. She stopped in mid-waltz; touched my friend on the broidered chevron with taper fingers, and sweetly said: Captain, may I trouble you to dismount? Another noted girl-closely connected with the administrationmade one of a distinguished party invited by
Charleston (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 34
ellknown poem of the time, found its way to many a camp-fire and became a classic about the Richmond hells. It began: You can never win them back, Never, never! And you'd better leave the track Now forever! Thoa you cut and deal the pack And copper every Jack, You'll lose stack after stack -- Forever! Everything tending to bathos-whether for the cause, or against it --caught its quick rebuke, at the hands of some glib funmaker. Once an enthusiastic admirer of the hero of Charleston indited a glowing ode, of which the refrain ran: Beau sabreur, beau canon, Beau soldat-Beauregard! Promptly came another, and most distorted version; its peculiar refrain enfolding: Beau Brummel, Beau Fielding, Beau Hickman-Beauregard! As it is not of record that the commander of the Army of Northern Virginia ever discovered the junior laureate, the writer will not essay to do so. Colonel Tom August, of the First Virginia, was the Charles Lamb of Confederate war-wits; geni
North America (search for this): chapter 34
hey wanted to marry. So, a council of war was held, no chaplain being available; and the general insisted on O'Hara tying the knot. Finally, he consented to try;, the couple stood before him; the responses as to obedience and endowment were made; and there O'Hara stuck fast! Go on! prompted the general-The benediction. The A. A. G. paused, stammered; then, raising his hand grandly, shouted in stentorian tones: In the name and by the authority of the Confederate States of North America, I proclaim you man and wife! A grim joke is handed down from the winter camps before Atlanta, when rations were not only worst but least. A knot round a messfire examined ruefully the tiny bits of moldy bacon, stuck on their bayonet-grills, when one hard old veteran remarked: Say, boys! Didn't them fellers wot died las' spring jest git th‘ commissary, though! Another, not very nice, still points equally the dire straits of the men, from unchanged clothing, and their grim
Vicksburg (Mississippi, United States) (search for this): chapter 34
ose travesty and satire the Charles Lamb of Richmond camp wit novel Marriage a Skirmisher prison humor even in Vicksburg! sad bill-of-fare northern Misconception Richmond society wit the Mosaic Club and its components Innes Randolph's all strange humors of the war, was that which echoed laughter over the leaguered walls of scarred, starving, desperate Vicksburg! No siege in all history tells of greater peril and suffering, borne with wondrous endurance and heroism, by men and wess fight and died — not with the stoicism of the fatalist, but with the cheerfulness of duty well performed! And when Vicksburg fell, a curious proof of this was found; a manuscript bill-of-fare, surmounted by rough sketch of a mule's head crossed Mississippi water, vintage 1492, very superior, $3; limestone water, late importation, very fine, $3.75; spring water, Vicksburg bottled up, $4. Meals at few hours. Gentlemen to wait upon themselves. Any inattention in service should be promp
United States (United States) (search for this): chapter 34
rtant one of life: they wanted to marry. So, a council of war was held, no chaplain being available; and the general insisted on O'Hara tying the knot. Finally, he consented to try;, the couple stood before him; the responses as to obedience and endowment were made; and there O'Hara stuck fast! Go on! prompted the general-The benediction. The A. A. G. paused, stammered; then, raising his hand grandly, shouted in stentorian tones: In the name and by the authority of the Confederate States of North America, I proclaim you man and wife! A grim joke is handed down from the winter camps before Atlanta, when rations were not only worst but least. A knot round a messfire examined ruefully the tiny bits of moldy bacon, stuck on their bayonet-grills, when one hard old veteran remarked: Say, boys! Didn't them fellers wot died las' spring jest git th‘ commissary, though! Another, not very nice, still points equally the dire straits of the men, from unchanged cloth
Mississippi (Mississippi, United States) (search for this): chapter 34
tewed-new style, hair on; mule liver, hashed à l'explosion. side Dishes: Mule salad; mule hoof, soused; mule brains l'omelette; mule kidneys, braises on ramrod; mule tripe, on half (Parrot) shell; mule tongue, cold, à la Bray. Jellies: Mule foot (3-to-yard); mule bone, à la trench. Pastry: Rice pudding, pokeberry sauce; cottonwood-berry pie, à la iron-clad; chinaberry tart. dessert: White-oak acorns; beech-nuts; blackberry-leaf tea; genuine Confederate coffee. liquors: Mississippi water, vintage 1492, very superior, $3; limestone water, late importation, very fine, $3.75; spring water, Vicksburg bottled up, $4. Meals at few hours. Gentlemen to wait upon themselves. Any inattention in service should be promptly reported at the office. Jeff Davis & Co., Proprietors. Card: The proprietors of the justly-celebrated Hotel de Vicksburg, having enlarged and refitted the same, are now prepared to accommodate all who may favor them with a call. Parties arri
Henrico (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 34
ovost-marshal's department at Richmond, shortly after surrender, was the neatest and most irrepressible of youths. Never discourteous and often too sympathetic, he was so overcurious as to be what sailors describe as In everybody's mess and nobody's watch. One day a quaint, Dickensesque old lady stood hesitant in the office doorway. Short, wrinkled and bent with age, she wore a bombazine gown of antique cut-its whilom black red-rusty from time's dye. But Aunt Sallie was a character in Henrico county; and noted withal for the sharpest of tongues and a fierce pair of undimmed eyes, which now shone under the dingy-brown poke bonnet. Toward her sallied the flippant young underling, with the greeting: Well, madam, what do you wish? What do I wish? The old lady grew restive and battlehungry. Yes'm! That's what I asked, retorted the youth sharply. What do I wish? slowly repeated the still-rebellious dame. Well, if you must know, I wish all you Yankees were in — hell
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