The Civil War in Song and Story, 1860-1865
Moore's collection includes the story of Dabney, an escaped slave-turned spy, €who provided valuable information to Union officers. In 1863,€Dabney fled across the€Rappahonnock€River to join a Union camp while his wife remained in Fredericksburg.€Dabney and his wife worked out a complicated signal system involving hanging laundry€so that she could pass along information about Confederate troops. He could look at her laundry line from across the river and share the information with the military commanders. He described the system:€"You see my wife over there? She washes for the officers, cooks, and waits around, and as soon as she hears about any movement or anything going on she comes down and moves the clothes on that line so I can understand in a minute. That there gray shirt is Longstreet; and when she takes it off it means he's gone down about Richmond. That white shirt means Hill; and when she moves it up to the west end of the line, Hill's corps has moved up stream. That red one is Stonewall Jackson. He's down on the right now, and if he moves, she'll move that red shirt."
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advance appeared arms army asked battery battle body boys brave brigade brought called camp Captain carried cavalry charge close Colonel coming command crossed dead death enemy escape eyes face feet fell field fight fire five flag force four friends front gave give ground guard guns half hand head hear heard heart hill horse hour hundred INCIDENT killed leave letter live look miles morning mountain moved never night North o'clock officer once party passed poor position prisoners reached rebel received regiment replied rest returned river road seemed seen sent shell shot side soldier soon South stand taken tell thing thought thousand told took troops turned Union whole woods wounded Yankee young
Page 395 - Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Were beating like prisoners...
Page 433 - For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along, Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong; Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast frame Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or shame; — In the gain or loss of one' race all the rest have equal claim.
Page 101 - He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat : Oh ! be swift, my soul, to answer Him ! be jubilant, my feet ! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me : As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on.
Page 434 - New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient good uncouth ; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth ; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.
Page 434 - Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime ; — Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time ? Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth rock sublime...
Page 80 - Leaped up to his lips, when low murmured vows Were pledged to be ever unbroken ; Then, drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling, And gathers his gun closer up to its place, As if to keep down the heart-swelling.
Page 101 - Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on.
Page 434 - Slavery, the earth-born Cyclops, fellest of the giant brood, Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched the earth with blood, Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer day, Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable prey;— Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless children play?
Page 139 - CLOSE his eyes; his work is done! What to him is friend or foeman, Rise of moon, or set of sun, Hand of man, or kiss of woman? Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow! What cares he? he cannot know: Lay him low! As man may, he fought his fight, Proved his truth by his endeavor; Let him sleep in solemn night, Sleep forever and forever.