CHAPTER II

THE GAUNTLET

In the fall of 1860 Major Robert Anderson was selected to command the little garrison at Fort Moultrie, in Charleston harbor. In spite of his entreaties, no reinforcements were sent him, and on the night of December 26 he abandoned Fort Moultrie, which his little force was incapable of defending, and moved to Fort Sumter, where he remained in spite of the state's protests.

BOB ANDERSON, MY BEAU

(Miss Columbia Sings)

Bob Anderson, my beau, Bob, when we were first aquent, You were in Mex-i-co, Bob, because by order sent; But now you are in Sumter, Bob, because you chose to go; And blessings on you anyhow, Bob Anderson, my beau!

Bob Anderson, my beau, Bob, I really don't know whether I ought to like you so, Bob, considering that feather; I don't like standing armies, Bob, as very well you know, But _I love a man that dares to act_, Bob Anderson, my beau.

Fort Moultrie was seized by the South Carolina troops, which were assembled in force under command of General Pierre T. Beauregard, and it was decided to bombard Sumter.

ON FORT SUMTER

It was a noble Roman, In Rome's imperial day, Who heard a coward croaker Before the battle say-- "They're safe in such a fortress; There is no way to shake it"-- "On, on!" exclaimed the hero, "I'LL FIND A WAY, OR MAKE IT!"

Is FAME your aspiration? Her path is steep and high; In vain he seeks the temple, Content to gaze and sigh; The crowded town is waiting, But he _alone_ can take it Who says, with "SOUTHERN FIRMNESS," "I'LL FIND A WAY, OR MAKE IT!"

Is GLORY your ambition? There is no royal road; Alike we all must labor, Must climb to her abode; Who feels the thirst for _glory_, In Helicon may slake it, If he has but the "SOUTHERN WILL," "TO FIND A WAY, OR MAKE IT!"

Is Sumter worth the getting? It must be bravely sought; With wishing and with fretting The boon cannot be bought; To _all_ the prize is open, But only he can take it Who says, with "SOUTHERN COURAGE," "I'LL FIND A WAY, OR MAKE IT!"

In all impassioned warfare, The tale has ever been, That victory crowns the valiant, The brave are they who win. Though strong is "_Sumter Fortress_," A HERO still may take it, Who says, with "SOUTHERN DARING," "I'LL FIND A WAY, OR MAKE IT!"

Charleston, S. C., _Mercury_.

On April 11 Beauregard summoned Anderson to surrender. Anderson promptly refused, and at 4.30 o'clock on the morning of April 12, 1861, the first gun against Sumter was fired. The fort answered promptly, and a terrific bombardment continued all day. The fort's ammunition was exhausted by the 13th, and Major Anderson accepted the terms of evacuation offered by General Beauregard. On the afternoon of Sunday, April 14, the little garrison marched out of the fort with colors flying and drums beating. Not a man had been killed on either side.

SUMTER

[April 12, 1861]

Came the morning of that day When the God to whom we pray Gave the soul of Henry Clay To the land; How we loved him, living, dying! But his birthday banners flying Saw us asking and replying Hand to hand.

For we knew that far away, Round the fort in Charleston Bay, Hung the dark impending fray, Soon to fall; And that Sumter's brave defender Had the summons to surrender Seventy loyal hearts and tender-- (Those were all!)

And we knew the April sun Lit the length of many a gun-- Hosts of batteries to the one Island crag; Guns and mortars grimly frowning, Johnson, Moultrie, Pinckney, crowning, And ten thousand men disowning The old flag.

Oh, the fury of the fight Even then was at its height! Yet no breath, from noon till night, Reached us here; We had almost ceased to wonder, And the day had faded under, When the echo of the thunder Filled each ear!

Then our hearts more fiercely beat, As we crowded on the street, Hot to gather and repeat All the tale; All the doubtful chances turning, Till our souls with shame were burning, As if twice our bitter yearning Could avail!

Who had fired the earliest gun? Was the fort by traitors won? Was there succor? What was done Who could know? And once more our thoughts would wander To the gallant, lone commander, On his battered ramparts grander Than the foe.

Not too long the brave shall wait: On their own heads be their fate, Who against the hallowed State Dare begin; Flag defied and compact riven! In the record of high Heaven How shall Southern men be shriven For the sin!

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.

THE BATTLE OF MORRIS' ISLAND

A CHEERFUL TRAGEDY

[April 12, 1861]

I

The morn was cloudy and dark and gray, When the first Columbiad blazed away, Showing that there was the d--l to pay With the braves on Morris' Island; They fired their cannon again and again, Hoping that Major Anderson's men Would answer back, but 'twas all in vain At first, on Morris' Island: Hokee pokee, winkee wum, Shattering shot and thundering bomb, Fiddle and fife and rattling drum, At the battle of Morris' Island!

II

At length, as rose the morning sun, Fort Sumter fired a single gun, Which made the chivalry want to run Away from Morris' Island; But they had made so much of a boast Of their fancy batteries on the coast, That each felt bound to stick to his post Down there on Morris' Island.

III

Then there was firing in hot haste; The chivalry stripped them to the waist, And, brave as lions, they sternly faced --Their grog, on Morris' Island! The spirit of Seventy-six raged high, The cannons roared and the men grew dry-- 'Twas marvellous like the Fourth of July, That fight on Morris' Island.

IV

All day they fought, till the night came down; It rained; the fellows were tired and blown, And they wished they were safely back to town, Away from Morris' Island. One can't expect the bravest men To shoot their cannons off in the rain, So all grew peaceful and still again, At the works on Morris' Island.

V

But after the heroes all had slept, To his gun each warrior swiftly leapt, Brisk, as the numerous fleas that crept In the sand on Morris' Island; And all that day they fired their shot, Heated in furnaces, piping hot, Hoping to send Fort Sumter to pot And glory to Morris' Island.

VI

Finally, wearying of the joke, Starved with hunger and blind with smoke From blazing barracks of pine and oak, Set fire from Morris' Island, The gallant Anderson struck his flag And packed his things in a carpet-bag, While cheers from bobtail, rag, and tag, Arose on Morris' Island.

VII

Then came the comforting piece of fun Of counting the noses one by one, To see if anything had been done On glorious Morris' Island: "Nobody hurt!" the cry arose; There was not missing a single nose, And this was the sadly ludicrous close Of the battle of Morris' Island.

VIII

But, gentle gunners, just wait and see What sort of a battle there yet will be; You'll hardly escape so easily, Next time on Morris' Island! There's a man in Washington with a will, Who won't mind shooting a little "to kill," If it proves that We Have a Government Still, Even on Morris' Island! Hokee pokee, winkee wum, Shattering shot and thundering bomb, Look out for the battle that's yet to come Down there on Morris' Island!

Anderson's total force numbered one hundred and twenty-eight. The South Carolina army opposed to him numbered about six thousand, and was made up largely of the best blood of the state. Planters and their sons, men of wealth and family, did not scruple to serve in the ranks. Their sweethearts and wives turned out in gala attire to witness their triumph, and when the fort surrendered, Charleston gave itself up to joy.

SUMTER--A BALLAD OF 1861

'Twas on the twelfth of April, Before the break of day. We heard the guns of Moultrie Give signal for the fray.

Anon across the waters There boomed the answering gun, From north and south came flash on flash; The battle had begun.

The mortars belched their deadly food And spiteful whizz'd the balls, A fearful storm of iron hailed On Sumter's doomèd walls.

We watched the meteor flight of shell, And saw the lightning flash-- Saw where each fiery missile fell, And heard the sullen crash.

The morn was dark and cloudy Yet till the sun arose, No answer to our gallant boys Came booming from our foes.

Then through the dark and murky clouds The morning sunlight came, And forth from Sumter's frowning walls Burst sudden sheets of flame.

Then shot and shell flew thick and fast, The war-dogs howling spoke, And thundering came their angry roar, Through wreathing clouds of smoke.

Again to fight for liberty Our gallant sons had come, They smiled when came the bugle call, And laughed when tapped the drum.

From cotton and from corn field, From desk and forum, too, From work bench and from anvil came Our gallant boys and true!

A hireling band had come to awe, Our chains to rivet fast; Yon lofty pile scowls on our homes Seaward the hostile mast.

But gallant freemen man our guns,-- No mercenary host, Who barter for their honor's price, And of their baseness boast.

Now came our stately matrons, And maidens, too, by scores; Oh! Carolina's beauty shone Like love-lights on her shores.

See yonder, anxious gazing, Alone a matron stands, The tear-drop glistening on each lid, And tightly clasped her hands.

For there, exposed to deadly fire, Her husband and her son-- "Father," she spoke, and heavenward look'd, "Father, thy will be done."

See yonder group of maidens, No joyous laughter now, For cares lie heavy on each heart And cloud each anxious brow;

For brothers dear and lovers fond Are there amid the strife; Tearful the sister's anxious gaze-- Pallid the promised wife.

Yet breathed no heart one thought of fear, Prompt at their country's call, They yielded forth their dearest hopes, And gave to honor all!

Now comes a message from below-- Oh! quick the tidings tell-- "At Moultrie and Fort Johnson, too, And Morris', all are well!"

Then mark the joyous bright'ning; See how each bosom swells; That friends and loved ones all are safe, Each to the other tells.

All day the shot flew thick and fast, All night the cannon roared, While wreathed in smoke stern Sumter stood And vengeful answer poured.

Again the sun rose, bright and clear, 'Twas on the thirteenth day, While, lo! at prudent distance moored, Five hostile vessels lay.

With choicest Abolition crews,-- The bravest of _their_ brave,-- They'd come to pull our Crescent down And dig Secession's grave.

"See, see, how Sumter's banner trails, They're signalling for aid. See you no boats of armed men? Is yet no movement made?"

Now densest smoke and lurid flames Burst out o'er Sumter's walls; "The fort's on fire," is the cry, Again for aid he calls.

See you no boats or vessels yet? Dare they not risk _one_ shot; To make report grandiloquent Of aid they rendered not?

Nor boat, nor vessel, leaves the fleet, "Let the old Major burn, We'll boast of what we would have done, If but--on our return."

Go back, go back, ye cravens; Go back the way ye came; Ye gallant, _would-be_ men-of-war, Go! to your country's shame.

'Mid fiery storm of shot and shell, 'Mid smoke and roaring flame, See how Kentucky's gallant son Does honor to her name!

See how he answers gun for gun-- Hurrah! his flag is down! The white! the white! Oh see it wave! Is echoed all around.

God save the gallant Anderson, All honor to his name, A soldier's duty nobly done, He's earned a hero's fame.

Now ring the bells a joyous peal, And rend with shouts the air, We've torn the hated banner down, And placed the Crescent there.

All honor to our gallant boys, Bring forth the roll of fame, And there in glowing lines inscribe Each patriot hero's name.

Spread, spread the tidings far and wide, Ye winds take up the cry, "Our soil's redeemed from hateful yoke, We'll keep it pure or die."

Columbia, S. C., _Banner_.

Very different was the reception of the news at the North. At last war had begun. The time for argument and compromise and entreaty was past. The time for action was at hand.

THE FIGHT AT SUMTER

'Twas a wonderful brave fight! Through the day and all night, March! Halt! Left! Right! So they formed: And one thousand to ten, The bold Palmetto men Sumter stormed.

The smoke in a cloud Closed her in like a shroud, While the cannon roared aloud From the Port; And the red cannon-balls Ploughed the gray granite walls Of the Fort.

Sumter's gunners at their places, With their gunpowdered faces, Shook their shoulders from their braces, And stripped Stark and white to the waist, Just to give the foe a taste, And be whipped.

In the town, through every street, Tramp, tramp, went the feet, For they said the Federal fleet Hove in sight; And down the wharves they ran, Every woman, child, and man, To the fight.

On the fort the old flag waved, And the barking batteries braved, While the bold seven thousand raved As they fought; For each blinding sheet of flame From her cannon thundered shame!-- So they thought.

And strange enough to tell, Though the gunners fired well, And the balls ploughed red as hell Through the dirt; Though the shells burst and scattered, And the fortress walls were shattered,-- _None were hurt_.

But the fort--so hot she grew, As the cannon-balls flew, That each man began to stew At his gun; They were not afraid to die, But this making Patriot pie Was not fun.

So, to make the story short, The traitors got the fort After thirty hours' sport With the balls; But the victory is not theirs, Though their brazen banner flares From the walls.

It were better they should dare The lion in his lair, Or defy the grizzly bear In his den, Than to wake the fearful cry That is rising up on high From our men.

To our banner we are clinging, And a song we are singing, Whose chorus is ringing From each mouth; 'Tis "The old Constitution And a stern retribution To the South."

_Vanity Fair_, April 27, 1861.

SUMTER

So, they _will_ have it! The Black Witch (curse on her) Always had won her Greediest demand--for we gave it-- All but our honor!

Thirty hours thundered Siege-guns and mortars-- (Flames in the quarters!) One to a hundred Stood our brave Forters!

No more of parties!-- Let them all moulder-- Here's work that's bolder! Forward, my hearties! Shoulder to shoulder.

Sight o'er the trunnion-- Send home the rammer-- Linstock and hammer! Speak for the Union! Tones that won't stammer!

Men of Columbia, Leal hearts from Annan, Brave lads of Shannon! We are all one to-day-- On with the cannon!

HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL.

Nor was there any hesitation as to what that action should be. On Monday, April 15, 1861, President Lincoln issued a call for seventy-five thousand militia to suppress combinations obstructing the execution of the laws in seven of the Southern states.

THE GREAT BELL ROLAND

SUGGESTED BY THE PRESIDENT'S CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS

I

Toll! Roland, toll! --High in St. Bavon's tower, At midnight hour, The great bell Roland spoke, And all who slept in Ghent awoke. --What meant its iron stroke? Why caught each man his blade? Why the hot haste he made? Why echoed every street With tramp of thronging feet-- All flying to the city's wall? It was the call Known well to all, That Freedom stood in peril of some foe: And even timid hearts grew bold Whenever Roland tolled, And every hand a sword could hold;-- For men Were patriots then, Three hundred years ago!

II

Toll! Roland, toll! Bell never yet was hung, Between whose lips there swung So true and brave a tongue! --If men be patriots still, At thy first sound True hearts will bound, Great souls will thrill-- Then toll! and wake the test In each man's breast, And let him stand confess'd!

III

Toll! Roland, toll! --Not in St. Bavon's tower At midnight hour,-- Nor by the Scheldt, nor far-off Zuyder Zee; But here--this side the sea!-- And here in broad, bright day! Toll! Roland, toll! For not by night awaits A brave foe at the gates, But Treason stalks abroad--inside!--at noon! Toll! Thy alarm is not too soon! To arms! Ring out the Leader's call! Reëcho it from East to West, Till every dauntless breast Swell beneath plume and crest! Toll! Roland, toll! Till swords from scabbards leap! Toll! Roland, toll! --What tears can widows weep Less bitter than when brave men fall? Toll! Roland, toll! Till cottager from cottage-wall Snatch pouch and powder-horn and gun-- The heritage of sire to son, Ere half of Freedom's work was done! Toll! Roland, toll! Till son, in memory of his sire, Once more shall load and fire! Toll! Roland, toll! Till volunteers find out the art Of aiming at a traitor's heart!

IV

Toll! Roland, toll! --St. Bavon's stately tower Stands to this hour,-- And by its side stands Freedom yet in Ghent; For when the bells now ring, Men shout, "God save the King!" Until the air is rent! --Amen!--So let it be; For a true king is he Who keeps his people free. Toll! Roland, toll! This side the sea! No longer they, but we, Have now such need of thee! Toll! Roland, toll! And let thy iron throat Ring out its warning note, Till Freedom's perils be outbraved, And Freedom's flag, wherever waved, Shall overshadow none enslaved! Toll! till from either ocean's strand, Brave men shall clasp each other's hand, And shout, "God save our native land!" --And love the land which God hath saved! Toll! Roland, toll!

THEODORE TILTON.

_Independent_, April 18, 1861.

MEN OF THE NORTH AND WEST[7]

Men of the North and West, Wake in your might, Prepare, as the rebels have done, For the fight! You cannot shrink from the test; Rise! Men of the North and West!

They have torn down your banner of stars; They have trampled the laws; They have stifled the freedom they hate, For no cause! Do you love it or slavery best? Speak! Men of the North and West.

They strike at the life of the State: Shall the murder be done? They cry: "We are two!" And you: "We are one!" You must meet them, then, breast to breast; On! Men of the North and West!

Not with words; they laugh them to scorn, And tears they despise; But with swords in your hands and death In your eyes! Strike home! leave to God all the rest; Strike! Men of the North and West.

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.

[7] From Poetical Writings of Richard Henry Stoddard; copyright, 1880, by Charles Scribner's Sons.

OUT AND FIGHT

Out and fight! The clouds are breaking, Far and wide the red light streams, North and west see millions waking From their night-mare, doubting dreams. War is coming. As the thunder 'Mid the mountain caverns rolls, Driving rains in torrents under, So the wild roar wakes our souls.

Out and fight! The time is over For all truce and compromise, Words of calm are words of folly, Peaceful dreams are painted lies; Sumter's flames in Southern waters Are the first wild beacon light, And on Northern hills reflected Give the signal for the fight.

Out and fight! Endure no longer Goading insult, brazen guilt; Be the battle to the knife blade, And the knife blade to the hilt, Till the sacred zone of Freedom Girds the whole Atlantic strand, And the braggart and the Gascon Be extinguished from the land.

CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.

_Vanity Fair_, April 27, 1861.

NO MORE WORDS

No more words; Try it with your swords! Try it with the arms of your bravest and your best! You are proud of your manhood, now put it to the test; Not another word; Try it by the sword!

No more notes; Try it by the throats Of the cannon that will roar till the earth and air be shaken; For they speak what they mean, and they cannot be mistaken; No more doubt; Come--fight it out!

No child's play! Waste not a day; Serve out the deadliest weapons that you know; Let them pitilessly hail on the faces of the foe; No blind strife; Waste not one life.

You that in the front Bear the battle's brunt-- When the sun gleams at dawn on the bayonets abreast, Remember 'tis for government and country you contest; For love of all you guard, Stand, and strike hard!

You at home that stay From danger far away, Leave not a jot to chance, while you rest in quiet ease; Quick! forge the bolts of death; quick! ship them o'er the seas; If War's feet are lame, Yours will be the blame.

You, my lads, abroad, "Steady!" be your word; You, at home, be the anchor of your soldiers young and brave; Spare no cost, none is lost, that may strengthen or may save; Sloth were sin and shame, Now play out the game!

FRANKLIN LUSHINGTON.

"At the darkest hour in the history of the republic," Emerson wrote, "when it looked as if the nation would be dismembered, pulverized into its original elements, the attack on Fort Sumter crystallized the North into a unit, and the hope of mankind was saved."

OUR COUNTRY'S CALL

Lay down the axe; fling by the spade; Leave in its track the toiling plough; The rifle and the bayonet-blade For arms like yours were fitter now; And let the hands that ply the pen Quit the light task, and learn to wield The horseman's crooked brand, and rein The charger on the battle-field.

Our country calls; away! away! To where the blood-stream blots the green. Strike to defend the gentlest sway That Time in all his course has seen. See, from a thousand coverts--see, Spring the armed foes that haunt her track; They rush to smite her down, and we Must beat the banded traitors back.

Ho! sturdy as the oaks ye cleave, And moved as soon to fear and flight, Men of the glade and forest! leave Your woodcraft for the field of fight. The arms that wield the axe must pour An iron tempest on the foe; His serried ranks shall reel before The arm that lays the panther low.

And ye, who breast the mountain-storm By grassy steep or highland lake, Come, for the land ye love, to form A bulwark that no foe can break. Stand, like your own gray cliffs that mock The whirlwind, stand in her defence; The blast as soon shall move the rock As rushing squadrons bear ye thence.

And ye, whose homes are by her grand Swift rivers, rising far away, Come from the depth of her green land, As mighty in your march as they; As terrible as when the rains Have swelled them over bank and borne, With sudden floods to drown the plains And sweep along the woods uptorn.

And ye, who throng, beside the deep, Her ports and hamlets of the strand, In number like the waves that leap On his long-murmuring marge of sand-- Come like that deep, when, o'er his brim He rises, all his floods to pour, And flings the proudest barks that swim, A helpless wreck, against the shore!

Few, few were they whose swords of old Won the fair land in which we dwell, But we are many, we who hold The grim resolve to guard it well. Strike, for that broad and goodly land, Blow after blow, till men shall see That Might and Right move hand in hand, And glorious must their triumph be!

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

The people of the South were also wildly enthusiastic for the war. Prompted by the belief that they must arm to defend their property and their liberties, they rose as one man. All hearts were in the cause.

DIXIE

Southrons, hear your country call you! Up, lest worse than death befall you! To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted,-- Let all hearts be now united! To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah! hurrah! For Dixie's land we take our stand, And live and die for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie!

Hear the Northern thunders mutter! Northern flags in South winds flutter! Send them back your fierce defiance! Stamp upon the accursed alliance!

Fear no danger! Shun no labor! Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre! Shoulder pressing close to shoulder, Let the odds make each heart bolder!

How the South's great heart rejoices At your cannons' ringing voices! For faith betrayed, and pledges broken, Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken.

Strong as lions, swift as eagles, Back to their kennels hunt these beagles! Cut the unequal bonds asunder! Let them hence each other plunder!

Swear upon your country's altar Never to submit or falter, Till the spoilers are defeated, Till the Lord's work is completed!

Halt not till our Federation Secures among earth's powers its station! Then at peace, and crowned with glory, Hear your children tell the story!

If the loved ones weep in sadness, Victory soon shall bring them gladness,-- To arms! Exultant pride soon vanish sorrow; Smiles chase tears away to-morrow. To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah! hurrah! For Dixie's land we take our stand, And live or die for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie!

ALBERT PIKE.

A CRY TO ARMS

Ho, woodsmen of the mountain-side! Ho, dwellers in the vales! Ho, ye who by the chafing tide Have roughened in the gales! Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot, Lay by the bloodless spade; Let desk and case and counter rot, And burn your books of trade!

The despot roves your fairest lands; And till he flies or fears, Your fields must grow but armèd bands, Your sheaves be sheaves of spears! Give up to mildew and to rust The useless tools of gain, And feed your country's sacred dust With floods of crimson rain!

Come with the weapons at your call-- With musket, pike, or knife; He wields the deadliest blade of all Who lightest holds his life. The arm that drives its unbought blows With all a patriot's scorn, Might brain a tyrant with a rose Or stab him with a thorn.

Does any falter? Let him turn To some brave maiden's eyes, And catch the holy fires that burn In those sublunar skies. Oh, could you like your women feel, And in their spirit march, A day might see your lines of steel Beneath the victor's arch!

What hope, O God! would not grow warm When thoughts like these give cheer? The lily calmly braves the storm, And shall the palm-tree fear? No! rather let its branches court The rack that sweeps the plain; And from the lily's regal port Learn how to breast the strain.

Ho, woodsmen of the mountain-side! Ho, dwellers in the vales! Ho, ye who by the roaring tide Have roughened in the gales! Come, flocking gayly to the fight, From forest, hill, and lake; We battle for our country's right, And for the lily's sake!

HENRY TIMROD.

"WE CONQUER OR DIE"

The war drum is beating, prepare for the fight, The stern bigot Northman exults in his might; Gird on your bright weapons, your foemen are nigh, And this be our watchword, "We conquer or die."

The trumpet is sounding from mountain to shore, Your swords and your lances must slumber no more, Fling forth to the sunlight your banner on high, Inscribed with the watchword, "We conquer or die."

March on the battlefield, there to do or dare, With shoulder to shoulder, all danger to share, And let your proud watchword ring up to the sky, Till the blue arch reëchoes, "We conquer or die."

Press forward undaunted nor think of retreat, The enemy's host on the threshold to meet; Strike firm, till the foeman before you shall fly, Appalled by the watchword, "We conquer or die."

Go forth in the pathway our forefathers trod; We, too, fight for freedom--our Captain is God, Their blood in our veins, with their honors we vie, Theirs, too, was the watchword, "We conquer or die."

We strike for the South--Mountain, Valley, and Plain, For the South we will conquer again and again; Her day of salvation and triumph is nigh, Ours, then, be the watchword, "We conquer or die."

JAMES PIERPONT.

"CALL ALL"

Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose, Roaring round like the very deuce! Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack,-- After 'em, boys, and drive 'em back.

Bull-dog, terrier, cur, and fice, Back to the beggarly land of ice; Worry 'em, bite 'em, scratch and tear Everybody and everywhere.

Old Kentucky is caved from under, Tennessee is split asunder, Alabama awaits attack, And Georgia bristles up her back.

Old John Brown is dead and gone! Still his spirit is marching on,-- Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys, Long as an ape's from Illinois!

Want a weapon? Gather a brick, Club or cudgel, or stone or stick; Anything with a blade or butt, Anything that can cleave or cut.

Anything heavy, or hard, or keen! Any sort of slaying machine! Anything with a willing mind, And the steady arm of a man behind.

Want a weapon? Why, capture one! Every Doodle has got a gun, Belt, and bayonet, bright and new; Kill a Doodle, and capture two!

Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire! All, call all! to the feast of fire! Mother and maiden, and child and slave, A common triumph or a single grave.

Rockingham, Va., _Register_, 1861.

THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG

Come, brothers! rally for the right! The bravest of the brave Sends forth her ringing battle-cry Beside the Atlantic wave! She leads the way in honor's path; Come, brothers, near and far, Come rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag That bears a single star!

We've borne the Yankee trickery, The Yankee gibe and sneer, Till Yankee insolence and pride Know neither shame nor fear; But ready now with shot and steel Their brazen front to mar, We hoist aloft the Bonnie Blue Flag That bears a single star.

Now Georgia marches to the front, And close beside her come Her sisters by the Mexique Sea, With pealing trump and drum; Till answering back from hill and glen The rallying cry afar, A Nation hoists the Bonnie Blue Flag That bears a single star.

By every stone in Charleston Bay, By each beleaguered town, We swear to rest not, night nor day, But hunt the tyrants down! Till bathed in valor's holy blood The gazing world afar Shall greet with shouts the Bonnie Blue Flag That bears the cross and star!

ANNIE CHAMBERS KETCHUM.

The Southern women were carried away by enthusiasm and excitement. They believed the South invincible, and regarded the men who did not rush to enlist as cowards and traitors.

"I GIVE MY SOLDIER BOY A BLADE!"

I give my soldier boy a blade, In fair Damascus fashioned well: Who first the glittering falchion swayed, Who first beneath its fury fell, I know not; but I hope to know, That, for no mean or hireling trade. To guard no feeling base or low-- I give my soldier boy the blade!

Cool, calm, and clear--the lucid flood In which its tempering work was done;-- As calm, as clear, in wind and wood, Be thou where'er it sees the sun! For country's claim at honor's call, For outraged friend, insulted maid, At mercy's voice to bid it fall-- I give my soldier boy the blade!

The eye which marked its peerless edge, The hand that weighed its balanced poise, Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge, Are gone with all their flame and noise; Yet still the gleaming sword remains! So, when in dust I low am laid, Remember by these heartfelt strains, I give my soldier boy the blade!

##