Tell me not the mournful numbers
From a "shoulder" to a "prime,"
For I murmur in my slumbers
Make two "motions in one time."
The Oglethorpes, though serving as infantry had clung tenaciously to their artillery organization and to the red stripes and chevrons which marked the heavier arm of the service. On our assignment to Gordon's regiment, the Colonel had made a very strong appeal to us to divide the company and to discard our artillery trimmings. At the next Sunday morning inspection Jim's tent bore a placard with this inscription, intended for the Colonel's eye:
"You may cheat or bamboozle us as much as you will,
But the sign of artillery will hang round us still."
Probably his masterpiece was a parody on "Maryland," written at Jacksonboro, Tenn., on the eve of our transfer from the 12th Ga. Battalion. That the reader may understand the personal allusion in the verses it is necessary to say that Edgar Derry, Jim Russell, Ed Clayton and Alph Rogers had been detailed by Col. Capers to fill certain staff positions with the battalion; that Miles Turpin was company drummer and Stowe—whose camp sobriquet was "Calline," was fifer; that in the skirmish at Huntsville, Tenn., W. W. Bussey, who was known in camp as "Busky," had been shot in the temple; that before the final charge on the fort, Col. Capers in crossing a ditch had mired in its bottom and had found some difficulty in extricating himself; that the war horse of the male persuasion ridden by Col. Gracie had been killed in the skirmish and that Randolph was Secretary of War. When the transfer had been effected it was uncertain whether the detailed men would retain their position or would return to the company, and the following verses were written by Jim as an appeal to them to go with us:
Come 'tis the red dawn of the day,
Here's your mule,
Come, details, join our proud array,
Here's your mule.
With Clayton panting for the fray,
With Rogers urging on that bay,
With Derry bold and Russell gay,
Here's your mule. Oh! Here's your mule.
Come for your limbs are stout and strong,
Here's your mule,
Come for your loafing does you wrong,
Here's your mule,
Come with your muskets light and long,
Rejoin the crowd where you belong,
And help us sing this merry song,
Here's your mule, Oh! Here's your mule.
Dear fellows break your office chains,
Here's your mule,
The "Web-feet" should not call in vain,
Here's your mule,
But if it goes against the grain,
"Sick furlough" is the proud refrain,
By which you may get off again,
Here's your mule. Oh! Here's your mule.
We trust you will not from us scud,
Here's your mule,
And nip your glory in the bud,
Here's your mule,
Remember "Busky" bathed in blood,
Remember Capers stuck in mud,
And gallant Gracie's dying stud,
Here's your mule, Oh! Here's your mule.
Ah, though you may awhile stay mum,
Here's your mule,
To "Calline's" fife and Turpin's drum,
Here's your mule,
When orders come from Randolph grum,
You will not then be deaf nor dumb,
Ah, then we know you'll come, you'll come,
Here's your mule, Oh! Here's your mule.
And now in conclusion, I am unwilling that my friend, Jim Wilson should be judged solely by these rhymes. If any allusion in them sounds harshly to ears polite, it must be remembered that they were intended, only for soldiers eyes and ears. The son of a Presbyterian missionary to India, he was an educated Christian gentleman, one of the brightest and wittiest men I have ever known, as brave as Julius Caesar and as true to the flag for which he fought as any man who wore the grey.