As we go marching on!
Oh, glory hallelujah,
As we go marching on!"
And down the line the tune was caught by advancing soldiers:—
"Hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,
As we go marching on.
Oh, glory hallelujah," etc.
"Ole Uncle Frank's at de bottom of dis business," said Alick; and alas! we had reason to believe that the wily old gentleman—whom we had left hiding in the cellar and imploring "for Gawd's sake, Jinny, bring me a gode o' water"—had purchased favor by revealing the hiding-place of our banner.
Early that morning German soldiers had rushed into our house demanding prisoners. My husband was marched off to headquarters, and the parole written by Mr. Lincoln himself on a visiting-card respected. The morning was filled with exciting incidents. Our English "colonel" came early: "To say good-by, madam! It's a shame!—and all just a question of bread and cheese—nothing but bread and cheese!"