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 passed; 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:
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