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Posts Tagged ‘confederacy’

 
(In the Civil War battle at Fredericksburg, Virginia, Burnside sent Union troops again and again across an open field toward the Southerners behind a wall on the Sunken Road and perched above on Marye’s Height. The Union was slaughtered before retreating, 13,300 casualties vs.4500 for the South.)

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The sunken road.  The Union attacked across open level ground from the right, suffered
many losses, and were repelled each time.  Marye’s Height (pictured below) is a steep hill
to the left.  Confederate cannons fired down on the Union from there.

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Did you, with ease, your blue waves send
To beat the shore that would not bend,
To paint their blood upon the wall
They battered ‘gainst, that could not fall?

Did you e’er feel the bullet’s pain
So they would not roll forth again
To-ward the South perched on the height,
No chance to win within blue’s sight?

Did they give their brief lives in vain
So you’d not have to bear the pain
Of facing Lincoln’s pressure to
Press on and fight, or bid adieu?

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The pictures are mine, taken a couple of years ago to a trip to Virginia where I
saw 5 major Civil War battlefields including Fredericksburg.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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Ole Abe (God bless ‘is ole soul!)
Got a plenty good victuals, an’ a plenty good clo’es.
Got powder, an’ shot, an’ lead,
To bust in Adam’s liddle Confed’
In dese hard times. 

Oh, once dere was union, an’ den dere was peace;
De slave, in de cornfield, bare up to his knees.
But de Rebel’s in gray, an’ Sesesh’s in de way,
An’ de slave’ll be free
In dese hard times.

 

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civil war deaths

When brother North fought brother South
Oft in the other’s home,
The bodies fell on battlefields
In woods and fields and loam.

The red plague on the battlegrounds,
Spread by the buzzing bees,
Was still but half the total brought
At rest, by dread disease.

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https://www.phil.muni.cz/~vndrzl/amstudies/civilwar_stats.htm

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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quantrill

When William Quantrill, in the Civil War,
Led his gray troops, like swarming ants, in raid
On Lawrence, citizens died by the score –
Unarmed.  A battle, or just vengeance paid?

John Morgan, likewise, was a Southern pride;
But to the North, his acts were piracy.
His men would conquer, taking all they spied –
An army’s pillaging?  Or robbery?

The line between an army waging war
And scoundrels, murderers, and common thieves;
Between a wicked gang and army corps
Is thinner than a person oft believes.

To see this truth is but to know the names:
With Quantrill rode both Frank and Jesse James.

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The picture is of William Quantrill.

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantrill%27s_Raiders

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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robert-e-lee

The gray-haired man on the iron-gray horse
Toward Pennsylvania led his gray-clad force.
And a Union lass in the Union land
Said, “I wish he was ours – he’s handsome and grand.”

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*A Union lass did say that.


© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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Jeb Stuart, in the midst of war,
Rode by his family.
While on his horse, he kissed his wife –
Goodbye in brevity.

Mere two days later, he was dead,
Kissed by a sniper’s bee.
It was a single touch that took
Him to eternity.

Of Stuart, Sedgwick later said,
“He ruled the cavalry.
He was the greatest officer
That we will ever see.”

The bullet, kiss, the spoken praise
Were each a single tick,
Upon the ages’ lumb’ring clock,
From one life that we pick.

How quick a stroke a brush may make
And change fore’er a hue
On which the wind will blow all day
And fall, in mornings, dew.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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At Griswoldville, Blue’s Howard left behind
Rear guard to watch as his men moved away.
Some Rebels sniffed them out as hounds will find
The wily fox who is the hunters’ prey.

In close formation, Gray made its attack
With courage, but without a bit of art,
Straight toward the waiting guns which drove them back,
To charge twice more, and failing, then depart.

The Union soldiers went into the field
As victors, cheering loudly with broad smiles.
But what to them had till then been concealed
Froze lips – the fallen Gray in many piles.

As Southern cause was close to its last breath,
Youth and the age-ed for the war were grist.
Six hundred lay, in agony or death,
So green, these Gray, that Blue troops rarely missed.

At Griswoldville, one viewed the grisly scene
And grieving, said, “There is no God in war.”
And thinking of a mother’s mournful keen,
He said, “War’s what the devil wishes for.”

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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The nation was the young United States;
Department: War. And Secretary
Was seen as one of the most able greats.
In that, he should have been more wary.

What knowing man will fashion his own noose
With stronger rope and tie it tightly,
So that no frantic struggle lets him loose
And dies while spotlight’s beaming brightly?

He prepped one nation well, and then in war
Became the head of still another –
A nation, new, that fought the land before
Jeff Davis served, one then the other.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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I never was a master or a slave,
Though maybe one, or both, is in my blood.
By kinsmen past is not how I behave
If in me now by drop or even flood. 

What’s gone before is but a sketch that’s pale,
While I am busy now with paint in hand
With all the colors of my present tale
To make my life a masterpiece that’s grand. 

If all my colors clash, there’s none to blame –
Not ghosts or genes or skin or governments.
I am the one responsible for fame
Or failure, not the long ago, or once. 

That some take umbrage at a distant flag
Shows chains of slav’ry that their minds still drag.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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