A moment's pause and then,
Our leader from his post,
Viewing the stricken host.
Cried 'Comrades, all is lost
If we now fail!'
Forming in single file.
They gaze with bated breath,
Around—before—beneath—
On every hand, stern Death
His visage showed.
'Forward!' They quickly spring
With leveled bayonet;
Each eye is firmly set
Upon that pathway wet
With crimson gore.
That 'Balaklava' dash!
Right through the leaden hail.
O'er dyke mid timbers frail,
With hearts that never fail
They boldly charge.
Facing the scathing fire
Without a halt or break;
Save when with moan or shriek,
In the blood-mingled creek
The wounded fall.
What could resist that charge?
Above the battle's roar,
There swells a deafening cheer
Telling to far and near,
The Mill is won!
The slaughter was terrible, and among the killed was young Lieutenant Stevenson, a graduate of Harvard. The affair was an unnecessary sacrifice of human life, for the war was over, peace had been declared, and President Lincoln had been assassinated; but in the interior of the Carolinas, the news did not reach until it was too late to prevent this final bloodshed of the war. Perhaps it may be regarded as a fitting seal of the negro to his new covenant with freedom and his country.
The very large number of negro troops which General Gillmore had under his command in the Department of the South, afforded him a better opportunity to test their fitness for and quality as soldiers, than any other commander had. In fact the artillery operations in Charleston harbor, conducted throughout with remarkable engineering skill, perseverence and bravery, won for General Gillmore and his troops the attention and admiration of the civilized world, and an exceptional place in the annals of military siege. Such fame is sufficient to prompt an inquiry into the capacity of the men who performed the labor of planting the "Swamp Angel," which threw three hundred pound shot into the heart of Charleston, more than four miles away, and also mounted the six 200-pound cannons which demolished the forts in the harbor two miles distant. The work of mounting these immense guns in swamp and mud could only be done by men who feared neither fatigue, suffering nor death. After the accomplishment of these worlds, wonders, and the subjugation of "arrogant" Wagner, the following circular was addressed to the subordinate engineers for information regarding the negro troops, which drew forth explicit and interesting answers:
"COLORED TROOPS FOR WORK.—CIRCULAR.
"Headquarters Department of the South,