THE BATTLE OF MURFREESBORO
[December 31, 1862]
Ere Murfreesboro's thunders rent the air—
With cannon booming 'mid the trumpet's blare—
Cane Hill and David Mills, stern battles, too,
Had carried death to hosts in Gray and Blue.
But here, more deadly, war's wild torrent rushed,
And victory, at first, the Rebels flushed.
The "right wing" gone, and troops in panic, lo!
The battle seemed already lost. But, No.
Brave Rosecrans cried out—"Now stop retreat!
We'll turn to victory this sore defeat!
We must and shall this battle—Soldiers!—win!
Now silence yonder batt'ry, to begin!
And all re-form and meet the yelling foe!
Stand firm and fire a volley! Back he'll go.
If not, present your bayonets, and Charge!
'Tis needless on these orders to enlarge;
But—Comrades!—here we conquer or we die!"
And all that Rosecrans desired was done;
And Murfreesboro's battle thus was won.
Hail! to that New Year's Day in 'Sixty-three,
And to that morrow which brought victory.
Hail! to the courage of the Boys in Blue,
Who fought so grandly, to their Country true.
Kinahan Cornwallis.
Among the wounded, on the Confederate side, was Isaac Giffen, a native of East Tennessee. He was terribly injured, and was taken by Dr. Francis O. Ticknor into his home and nursed back to life. He fell in one of the battles before Atlanta.
LITTLE GIFFEN
Out of the focal and foremost fire,
Out of the hospital walls as dire,
Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene
(Eighteenth battle and he sixteen)—
Spectre such as you seldom see,
Little Giffen of Tennessee.
"Take him—and welcome!" the surgeons said,
"Little the doctor can help the dead!"
So we took him and brought him where
The balm was sweet on the summer air;
And we laid him down on a wholesome bed—
Utter Lazarus, heel to head!
And we watched the war with bated breath—
Skeleton Boy against skeleton Death.
Months of torture, how many such!
Weary weeks of the stick and crutch;
And still a glint in the steel-blue eye
Told of a spirit that wouldn't die.
And didn't. Nay, more! in death's despite
The crippled skeleton learned to write.
"Dear Mother," at first of course; and then
"Dear Captain," inquiring about "the men."
Captain's answer: "Of eighty and five,
Giffen and I are left alive."