Rebels! ‘tis a holy name!
The name our fathers bore
When batting in the cause of right,
In the dark days of yore.
Rebels! ’tis our family name!
Our father—Washington—
Was the arch-Rebel in the fight,
And gives the name to us, a right
Of father unto son.
Rebels! ’tis our given name!
Our mother—Liberty—
Received the title with her fame
In days of grief, and fear and shame,
When at her breast were we.
Rebels! ’tis our sealed name!
A baptism of blood.
The war-cry and the dire of strife,
The fearful contest, life for life,
The mingled crimson blood.
Rebels! ’tis a patriot name!
In struggles it was given;
We bore it then, when tyrants raved,
And thro’ their curses ’twas engraved
On the Dooms-day Book of Heaven.
Rebels! ’tis our fighting name!
For peace rolls o’er the land,
Until they speak of craven woe,
Until our rights receive a blow
From foe’s or brother’s hand.
Rebels! ’tis our dying name!
For although life is dear,
Yet freemen born, and freemen bred,
We’d rather lie as freemen dead,
Then live in slavish fear.
Then call us Rebels if you will,
We’ll glory in the name;
For bending under unjust laws,
And swearing faith to an unjust cause,
We count a greater shame.
“A perfect love of a man” is Parson Brownlow. The Louisville Journal
says: “He has repeatedly assured us that he never swore an oath, never
played a card, never took a drink of liquor, never went to the theatre,
never attended a horse-race, never told a lie, never broke the Sabbath,
never voted the Democratic ticket, never wore whiskers, and never
kissed any woman but his wife.” He is a black-hearted traitor, besides
being an unprincipled liar.
A Western editor says his paper is located immediately over a
_recruiting_ office, and that the fifing and drumming “drives
everything out of his head.” What a scampering there must be over his
shirt collar!
All the Yankees talk about is “the Union and its laws.” Of all
injustice, that is the greatest which goes under the name of law; and
of all sorts of tyranny, the forcing of the letter of the law against
the equity is the most insupportable.
Many Yankee soldiers have assured me that they entered the army while
intoxicated with drink, being victims of the wiles of those who do not
scruple to do anything in their mad efforts to conquer the South. Wrong
being at the root of their great armies, has caused them so often to
bite the dust before inferior numbers:
“Although the ear be deaf, and will not hear,
There is a voice in conscience which appeals
Unto the heart of guilt. A still, small voice,
Which, like the mountain streamlet, wears its way
Over the hardest rock.”
The small armies of the Confederates have the advantage of _right_ on
their side, and
“How weak an army can strike a giant’s blow,
When Providence directs it.” * *
_July 25th._ Gold to-day is a peg higher, closing at 120⅛, with a
sharp demand for export. Flour, wheat and corn, following the law of
attraction, are “up” too. Inflation is the order of the day, and under
the exhilarating influence of plenty of paper money, nobody appears
to dream of the possibility that the bubble is ever going to burst. I
glean the following from Northern papers: The news from Louisville,
Kentucky, concerning Morgan’s movements is, that between Crab Orchard
and London he destroyed several wagons of a Federal train destined
for General Morgan’s command at Cumberland Gap. Of course the wagons,
whose number is indefinitely stated, were not empty ones, but whether
they contained commissary stores, or material of war, is not mentioned.
The “Courier” and “Eugene,” whilst ascending Green River, Kentucky,
with troops, were fired into by a party of cavalry. At McAllister’s
landing, two miles beyond Newburg, Indiana, the steamer Commercial was
also attacked in a similar manner; whilst at Randolph, Missouri, the
Belle, on her way from Memphis to St. Louis, was likewise fired upon.
“The result,” we are told, “was unknown.” At Hudson, Missouri, Porter’s
guerrillas were attacked and routed by a detachment of Federal cavalry
under Colonel McNeill. The Federal loss is set down at fifteen killed
and thirty wounded. The guerrilla loss is said to be much heavier.
There was renewed excitement at Nashville, Tennessee, on Monday evening
last—the Federal pickets on the Lebanon having been captured by the
guerrillas under Colonel Forrest, who was reported to be in force
within five miles of the city. The Confederates have also broken up the
railway communication between Corinth and Tuscumbia. As the Tennessee
river is no longer navigable, in consequence of the low stage of water,
great difficulty, it is said, will be experienced in providing with
adequate supplies those portions of Buell’s army which are at or near
Tuscumbia.
We know but little concerning the present condition of the army now
encamped under cover of the gunboats on the James river, beyond what
is furnished by the correspondents of Northern journals. From these
sources, however, we learn that the furlough fever has somewhat abated,
that many of those who contemplated asking for leave of absence have
concluded to remain, but that many other officers, surfeited with war
and its horrors, have sent in their resignations, and “want to go
home.” The Confederates are reported to be in considerable force on
both sides of the James river, from four to eight miles below the mouth
of the Chickahominy, whilst above, at Turkey Island Bend, Curl’s Neck,
and at Dutch Gap, they are constructing large and massive batteries. On
several occasions the gun boats have driven them from their work, but
it was resumed again as soon as the boats retired, and the batteries
are now supposed to be “fully prepared, equipped, and ready for future
action.” It is not surprising, then, that it should be rumored “that
the troops would receive orders, in the course of a few days, to
evacuate their present position,” where they suffer terribly for want
of pure and wholesome water, and are weakened down with diarrhœa and
dysentery. It seems scarcely probable, however, that McClellan will
abandon the “secure” position he has already sacrificed so much to
attain. The report to that effect is, nevertheless, gravely announced
by the correspondent of the Philadelphia Enquirer, and is reproduced,
without comment, in the New York papers. The War Department has issued
an order authorizing the military commanders within the States of
Virginia, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana,
Texas and Arkansas, to seize any real or personal property which may
be necessary or convenient for their respective commands, and also to
destroy property for military purposes. It is further ordered that the
negroes within and from the above States shall be employed as laborers
for military purposes, giving them reasonable compensation for their
services, and that a record shall be kept, showing from whom the
property and persons are taken, as a basis upon which compensation can
be made in proper cases.
_Saturday, July 26th._ The papers say that McClellan remains quiet,
while his officers are resigning as fast as they can. He may fly from
our brave soldiers, and seek shelter under his gunboats, but he cannot
flee from the retributive justice of heaven, let him go where he may:
“In vain he flies—the furies still pursue.
Avenging justice on the murderer’s track
Follows to claim her due.”
It is with a loathing, sickening sensation, similar to that with which
men regard the bloated toad or slimy reptile, that I view the Yankee
officials who come round daily, often with no other object but to
tantalize the prisoners. The idea that their treasonable invasion of
the just rights of the South has placed me in my present position,
sends the warm blood rushing to my heart and brain—my shattered nerves
resume their elasticity, and feel as if they were suddenly transformed
to steel. More than once I have clenched my hands with nervous
impatience, till the nails almost cut the flesh, for the Yankees, from
their very nature, seem to feel an almost inhuman joy in contemplating
our imprisonment; and what is more calculated to vex? We were allowed
to go a swimming this evening. Saw two young ladies—nearer than I have
seen a lady for two months, for they passed directly by us. They were,
indeed, fair and good-looking, but as they did not condescend to notice
me:
“Why should I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman’s fair;
What care I how fair she be,
If she be not fair to me.”
It was told us on Friday that we would certainly be sent to Dixie
to-day, but to-day they say we are not to go until Monday. I believe
the sole delight of the Yankee authorities here is to tantalize us
as much as they can. I read somewhere that the word tantalize thus
originated—a man named Tantalus had been found guilty of a crime in
Germany, and as a punishment for the same he was denied water for a
certain length of time, although water, by machinery, passed nearer
every moment to his parched lips—every moment the cooling draught
suddenly swept by him in pipes, and became more and more close to
his mouth, but yet never near enough for him to quench his thirst.
Afterwards whenever a man had expectations of a flattering nature held
out to him and was frustrated, he was said to be tantalized. Truly, the
Yankees are fond of tantalizing—they like to deceive and tyrannize over
those in their power. All cowards are prone to do the same.
On the 15th of July, Sergeant J. J. Cox, first battalion Louisiana
volunteers, and John A. Toole, 9th Virginia cavalry, made their escape
from Fort Delaware under the following circumstances: At 8 o’clock,
P.M., when the sergeants were calling the roll in the enclosure, they
a squeezed out of the apertures left for the passage of air throughout
the quarters, and concealed themselves in the long grass outside the
barracks. They now had about ten paces to crawl in order to reach the
path on which the sentry walked, and they passed this point in safety
and unobserved by the sentinel, with their knives between their teeth,
ready to use at any moment. They then crossed the moat and embankment
in safety. It was now seventy-five yards to the river. On the way there
they discovered a board on which they tied their clothes. As they were
about to get into the water, they saw a boat full (as they supposed)
of soldiers rowing towards the shore, and in about ten minutes another
came. This delayed them an hour, when they leaped into the water, and
swam half way across the river. Here a government transport passed
so close to them that they could discern every rope on board. Having
eluded this boat they had no further trouble, and reached the shore
between Delaware City and New Castle on the marsh, after being five or
six hours in the water, and having swam a distance of three and a half
miles on a board! They remained on the marsh until the night of the
16th, when they started on their journey South—paused the town of St.
George, Delaware, the same night. They went to Baltimore and Washington
to look round, and from the latter they made their way to Dixie, easy
enough, in the character of stock buyers.
_July 28th._ This day has been spent in reading the “life of
Washington,” loaned me by a fellow-prisoner. The war for independence
has always been considered the heroic age in American history, and
while many despaired of peace ever again smiling upon the land,
Washington placed his confidence in God, and overcame all difficulties.
In September, 1775, Washington wrote in relation to a proposed
attack upon the enemy at Boston and Roxbury: “The success of such
an enterprise, I well know, _depends on the All-wise disposer of
events_, and it is not within the reach of human wisdom to foretell the
result, &c.” In January, 1776, he wrote: “For more than two months
I have scarcely emerged from one difficulty before I have plunged
into another. How it will end God in his great goodness will direct.”
Those who fight the battles of a country may derive their loftiest
inspirations from trust in providence. In July, 1775, Washington said
in an order to the troops: “The fate of unborn millions will now
depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army. Let us rely
upon the goodness of the cause, and the aid of the Supreme Being, in
whose hands victory is.”
_July 29th, 30th and 31st._ Nothing of interest enough to record has
transpired during the past three days, unless it be the arrival of
transport boats to convey us to “Dixie,” which latter is the only
evidence to our minds that we are really to be exchanged, for we have
ceased to believe the Yankees any longer. And I might add, the general
happiness manifested by the prisoners in anticipation of once more
realizing that freedom which allows one to move about at pleasure,
and untrammelled by a sentinel at every step. No one can entertain
an adequate idea of what liberty is, until he has been confined in a
Yankee prison, and then he will understand both liberty and tyranny.
_August 1st._ About three thousand Confederates were put on board boats
to-day, and started for the South—landed at “Aiken’s Landing,” August
5th.
My prison experience has taught me that the Yankees are one grand
bundle of lies and inconsistencies. The newspapers, particularly, have
begun, and kept up, a wholsale system of lying, under the military
censorship and direction of the Secretary of War. In spite of their
disclaimers to the contrary, their own acts and words betray their
purpose to steal all the negroes they can. It is true that some have
pleaded, and are now pleading for peace under the old government,
offering the South all she ever had, and claiming nothing that is not
common to all. But this is simply because they have seen the folly of
their undertaking, and would like now to slip out of the difficulty,
especially since they believe they have about as many slaves as they
will probably get. But those who are now causing all the bloodshed
around us, will, if they persist, find the bounds of slavery yet spread
beyond limits heretofore held. The Confederate Government, however, is
fighting for _Constitutional Liberty_—the liberty of our forefathers
against all things, and nothing but annihilation can prevent them from
upholding it; and to the Yankees it may be said:
“The purpose you undertake is dangerous;
The friends you have named uncertain;
The time itself unsorted;
And your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an
opposition.”