Before Vicksburg: May 19, 1863

WHILE Sherman stood beneath the hottest fire
That from the lines of Vicksburg gleamed,
And bomb-shells tumbled in their smoky gyre,
And grape-shot hissed, and case-shot screamed ;
Back from the front there came,
Weeping and sorely lame,
The merest child, the youngest face
Man ever saw in such a fearful place.

Stifling his tears, he limped his chief to meet;
But when he paused, and tottering stood,
Around the circle of his little feet
There spread a pool of bright, young blood.
Shocked at his doleful case,
Sherman cried, “ Halt ! front face !
Who are you ? Speak, my gallant boy ! ”
“ A drummer, Sir : — Fifty-Fifth Illinois.”

“ Are you not hit ? ” “ That’s nothing. Only send
Some cartridges : our men are out;
And the foe press us.” “ But, my little friend”—
“ Don’t mind me I Did you hear that shout ?
What if our men be driven ?
Oh, for the love of Heaven,
Send to my Colonel, General dear ! ”
“ But you ? ” “ Oh, I shall easily find the rear.”

“ I ’ll see to that,” cried Sherman ; and a drop
Angels might envy dimmed his eye,
As the boy, toiling towards the hill’s hard top,
Turned round, and with his shrill child’s cry
Shouted, “ Oh, don’t forget!
We ’ll win the battle yet!
But let our soldiers have some more,
More cartridges, Sir, — calibre fifty-four ! ”