Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War Part 2

I have a feeling for those ships, Each worn and ancient one, With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam; Ay, it was unkindly done.

But so they serve the Obsolete-- Even so, Stone Fleet!

You'll say I'm doting; do but think I scudded round the Horn in one-- The Tenedos, a glorious Good old craft as ever run-- Sunk (how all unmeet!) With the Old Stone Fleet.

An India ship of fame was she, Spices and shawls and fans she bore; A whaler when her wrinkles came-- Turned off! till, spent and poor, Her bones were sold (escheat)!

Ah! Stone Fleet.

Four were erst patrician keels (Names attest what families be), The Kensington, and Richmond too, Leonidas, and Lee: But now they have their seat With the Old Stone Fleet.

To scuttle them--a pirate deed-- Sack them, and dismast; They sunk so slow, they died so hard, But gurgling dropped at last.

Their ghosts in gales repeat _Woe's us, Stone Fleet!_

And all for naught. The waters pa.s.s-- Currents will have their way; Nature is n.o.body's ally; 'tis well; The harbor is bettered--will stay.

A failure, and complete, Was your Old Stone Fleet.

Donelson.

(February, 1862.)

The bitter cup Of that hard countermand Which gave the Envoys up, Still was wormwood in the mouth, And clouds involved the land, When, pelted by sleet in the icy street, About the bulletin-board a band Of eager, anxious people met, And every wakeful heart was set On latest news from West or South.

"No seeing here," cries one--"don't crowd--"

"You tall man, pray you, read aloud."

IMPORTANT.

_We learn that General Grant, Marching from Henry overland, And joined by a force up the c.u.mberland sent (Some thirty thousand the command), On Wednesday a good position won-- Began the siege of Donelson.

The stronghold crowns a river-bluff, A good broad mile of leveled top; Inland the ground rolls off Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken up-- A wilderness of trees and brush.

The spaded summit shows the roods Of fixed intrenchments in their hush; Breast-works and rifle-pits in woods Perplex the base.-- The welcome weather Is clear and mild; 'tis much like May.

The ancient boughs that lace together Along the stream, and hang far forth, Strange with green mistletoe, betray A dreamy contrast to the North.

Our troops are full of spirits--say The siege won't prove a creeping one.

They purpose not the lingering stay Of old beleaguerers; not that way; But, full of _vim_ from Western prairies won, They'll make, ere long, a dash at Donelson._

Washed by the storm till the paper grew Every shade of a streaky blue, That bulletin stood. The next day brought A second.

LATER FROM THE FORT.

_Grant's investment is complete-- A semicircular one.

Both wings the c.u.mberland's margin meet, Then, backwkard curving, clasp the rebel seat.

On Wednesday this good work was done; But of the doers some lie p.r.o.ne.

Each wood, each hill, each glen was fought for; The bold inclosing line we wrought for Flamed with sharpshooters. Each cliff cost A limb or life. But back we forced Reserves and all; made good our hold; And so we rest.

Events unfold.

On Thursday added ground was won, A long bold steep: we near the Den.

Later the foe came shouting down In sortie, which was quelled; and then We stormed them on their left.

A chilly change in the afternoon; The sky, late clear, is now bereft Of sun. Last night the ground froze hard-- Rings to the enemy as they run Within their works. A ramrod bites The lip it meets. The cold incites To swinging of arms with brisk rebound.

Smart blows 'gainst l.u.s.ty chests resound.

Along the outer line we ward A crackle of skirmishing goes on.

Our lads creep round on hand and knee, They fight from behind each trunk and stone; And sometimes, flying for refuge, one Finds 'tis an enemy shares the tree.

Some scores are maimed by boughs shot off In the glades by the Fort's big gun.

We mourn the loss of colonel Morrison, Killed while cheering his regiment on.

Their far sharpshooters try our stuff; And ours return them puff for puff: 'Tis diamond-cutting-diamond work.

Woe on the rebel cannoneer Who shows his head. Our fellows lurk Like Indians that waylay the deer By the wild salt-spring.--The sky is dun, Fordooming the fall of Donelson.

Stern weather is all unwonted here.

The people of the country own We brought it. Yea, the earnest North Has elementally issued forth To storm this Donelson._

FURTHER.

A yelling rout Of ragam.u.f.fins broke profuse To-day from out the Fort.

Sole uniform they wore, a sort Of patch, or white badge (as you choose) Upon the arm. But leading these, Or mingling, were men of face And bearing of patrician race, Splendid in courage and gold lace-- The officers. Before the breeze Made by their charge, down went our line; But, rallying, charged back in force, And broke the sally; yet with loss.

This on the left; upon the right Meanwhile there was an answering fight; a.s.sailants and a.s.sailed reversed.

The charge too upward, and not down-- Up a steep ridge-side, toward its crown, A strong redoubt. But they who first Gained the fort's base, and marked the trees Felled, heaped in horned perplexities, And s.h.a.gged with brush; and swarming there Fierce wasps whose sting was present death-- They faltered, drawing bated breath, And felt it was in vain to dare; Yet still, perforce, returned the ball, Firing into the tangled wall Till ordered to come down. They came; But left some comrades in their fame, Red on the ridge in icy wreath And hanging gardens of cold Death.

But not quite unavenged these fell; Our ranks once out of range, a blast Of shrapnel and quick sh.e.l.l Burst on the rebel horde, still ma.s.sed, Scattering them pell-mell.

(This fighting--judging what we read-- Both charge and countercharge, Would seem but Thursday's told at large, Before in brief reported.--Ed.) Night closed in about the Den Murky and lowering. Ere long, chill rains.

A night not soon to be forgot, Reviving old rheumatic pains And longings for a cot.

No blankets, overcoats, or tents.

Coats thrown aside on the warm march here-- We looked not then for changeful cheer; Tents, coats, and blankets too much care.

No fires; a fire a mark presents; Near by, the trees show bullet-dents.

Rations were eaten cold and raw.

The men well soaked, come snow; and more-- A midnight sally. Small sleeping done-- But such is war; No matter, we'll have Fort Donelson._

"Ugh! ugh!

'Twill drag along--drag along"

Growled a cross patriot in the throng, His battered umbrella like an ambulance-cover Riddled with bullet-holes, spattered all over.

"Hurrah for Grant!" cried a stripling shrill; Three urchins joined him with a will, And some of taller stature cheered.

Meantime a Copperhead pa.s.sed; he sneered.

"Win or lose," he pausing said, "Caps fly the same; all boys, mere boys; Any thing to make a noise.

Like to see the list of the dead; These '_craven Southerners_' hold out; Ay, ay, they'll give you many a bout"

"We'll beat in the end, sir"

Firmly said one in staid rebuke, A solid merchant, square and stout.

"And do you think it? that way tend, sir"

Asked the lean Cooperhead, with a look Of splenetic pity. "Yes, I do"

His yellow death's head the croaker shook: "The country's ruined, that I know"

A shower of broken ice and snow, In lieu of words, confuted him; They saw him hustled round the corner go, And each by-stander said--Well suited him.

Next day another crowd was seen In the dark weather's sleety spleen.

Bald-headed to the storm came out A man, who, 'mid a joyous shout, Silently posted this brief sheet:

GLORIOUS VICTORY OF THE FLEET!

FRIDAY'S GREAT EVENT!

THE ENEMY'S WATER-BATTERIES BEAT!