The Story of the Battle Hymn of the Republic

by Florence Howe Hall

All this sank deeply into the heart of the poet. The soul of the Army took possession of her. The song which she wrote down in the gray twilight of that autumn morning voiced the highest aspirations of the soldiers, of the whole people. Hence, when the armies of freedom heard it, they at once hailed it as their own. My mother writes in her Reminiscences:

“The poem, which was soon after published in the Atlantic Monthly, was somewhat praised on its appearance, but the vicissitudes of the war so engrossed public attention that small heed was taken of literary matters. I knew, and was content to know, that the poem soon found its way to the camps, as I heard from time to time of its being sung in chorus by the soldiers.”

This was the beginning, but the interest increased as the “Battle Hymn” became more and more widely known, until it grew to be one of the leading lyrics of the war. It was “sung, chanted, recited, and used in exhortation and prayer on the eve of battle.” “It was the word of the hour, and the Union armies marched to its swing.”

The “singing chaplain”—Rev. Charles Cardwell McCabe of the 122d Ohio Regiment of Volunteers, did much to popularize this war lyric. Reading it in the Atlantic Monthly, he was so charmed with the lines that he committed them to memory before arising from his chair. A year or so later, while attending the wounded men of his regiment, after the battle of Winchester (June, 1863), he was taken prisoner and carried to Libby Prison. Here he was a living benediction to the prisoners. Deeply religious by nature and blest with a cheerful, happy disposition, he kept up the spirits of his companions, ministering alike to their bodily and spiritual needs. Thus he begged three bath-tubs for them, an inestimable treasure, even though these had to serve the needs of six hundred men. Books, too, he procured for them, for the prisoners at this time comprised a notable company of men—doctors, teachers, editors, merchants, lawyers. “We bought books when we needed bread,” the chaplain tells us.

With the music of his wonderful voice he was wont to dispel the gloom that often settled upon the inmates of the prison. Many stories are told of its power, pathos, and magnetism. Whenever the dwellers in old Libby felt depression settling upon their spirits they would call out, “Chaplain, sing us a song.” Then “The heavy load that oppressed us all seemed as by magic to be lifted.”

[27]July 6, 1863, was a dark day for the prisoners. They were required to cast lots for the selection of two captains who were to be executed. These officers were taken to the dungeon below and told to prepare for death. Then the remaining men huddled together discussing the situation. The Confederate forces were marching north, and a terrible battle had been fought. Grant was striving to capture Vicksburg, the key to the Mississippi, with what result they did not know. The Richmond newspapers brought tidings of disaster to the Union armies. In startling head-lines the prisoners read: “Meade defeated at Gettysburg.” “The Northern Army fleeing to the mountains.” “Grant repulsed at Vicksburg.” “The campaign closed in disaster.”

A pall deeper and darker than death settled upon the Union prisoners. The poor, emaciated fellows broke down and cried like babies. They lost all hope. “We had not enough strength left to curse God and die,” as one of them said later.

“By and by ‘Old Ben,’ a negro servant, slipped in among them under pretense of doing some work about the prison; concealed under his coat was a later edition of the paper, on which the ink was scarcely dry. He looked around upon the prostrate host, and called out, ‘Great news in de papers.’ If you have never seen a resurrection, you could not tell what happened. We sprang to our feet and snatched the papers from his hands. Some one struck a light and held aloft a dim candle. By its light we read these head-lines:

‘Lee is defeated! His pontoons are swept away! The Potomac is over its banks! The whole North is up in arms and sweeping down upon him!’

“The revulsion of feeling was almost too great to endure. The boys went crazy with joy. They saw the beginning of the end.” Chaplain McCabe sprang upon a box and began to sing: