SOME SOCIAL FEATURES.

Morgan’s Men Rendezvous near Decatur—Waddell’s Artillery—Visits from the Texans—Surgeon Haynie and his Song.

In the winter of 1864 there seems to have been a lull of hostilities between the armies at “the front.” Morgan’s men were rendezvousing near Decatur. Their brave and dashing chief had been captured, but had made his escape from the Ohio penitentiary, and was daily expected. Some artillery companies were camping near, among them Waddell’s. There was also a conscript camp within a mile or two; so it is not to be wondered at that the young ladies of Decatur availed themselves in a quiet way of the social enjoyment the times afforded, and that there were little gatherings at private houses at which “Morgan’s men” and the other soldiers were frequently represented.

Our brother was absent in Texas, where he had been assigned to duty, but my sister was at home, and many an hour’s entertainment her music gave that winter to the soldiers and to the young people of Decatur. My mother’s hospitality was proverbial, and much of our time these wintry months was spent in entertaining our soldier guests, and in ministering to the sick in the Atlanta hospitals, and in the camps and temporary hospitals about Decatur.So near were we now to “the front” (about a hundred miles distant), that several of my brother’s Texas comrades obtained furloughs and came to see us. Among these were Lieutenants Prendergast and Jewell, Captain Leonard and Lieutenant Collins, Captain Bennett and Lieutenant Donathan. They usually had substantial boots made while here, by Smith, the Decatur boot and shoe maker, which cost less than those they could have bought in Atlanta. We received some very pleasant calls from Morgan’s men and Waddell’s Artillery. Among the latter we have always remembered a young man from Alabama, James Duncan Calhoun, of remarkable intellectual ability, refreshing candor and refinement of manner. Ever since the war Mr. Calhoun has devoted himself to journalism. Among the former we recall Lieutenant Adams, Messrs. Gill, Dupries, Clinkinbeard, Steele, Miller, Fortune, Rowland, Baker, and Dr. Lewis. These gentlemen were courteous and intelligent, and evidently came of excellent Kentucky and Tennessee families. One evening several of these gentlemen had taken tea with us, and after supper the number of our guests was augmented by the coming of Dr. Ruth, of Kentucky, and Dr. H. B. Haynie, surgeon of the 14th Tennessee Cavalry. Dr. Haynie was an elderly, gray-haired man, of fine presence, and with the courtly manners of the old school. On being unanimously requested, he sang us a song entitled: “The Wailings at Fort Delaware,” which he had composed when an inmate of that wretched prison. As one of the gentlemen remarked, “there is more truth than poetry in it;” yet there are in it some indications of poetic genius, and Dr. Haynie sang it with fine effect.

“THE WAILINGS AT FORT DELAWARE.”
By B. H. Haynie,
Surgeon 14th Tennessee Cavalry (Morgan’s Division).

Oh! here we are confined at Fort Delaware,
With nothing to drink but a little lager beer,
Infested by vermin as much as we can bear;
Oh Jeff, can’t you help us to get away from here?
Chorus—
And it’s home, dearest home, the place I ought to be,
Home, sweet home, way down in Tennessee,
Where the ash and the oak and the bonny willow tree,
Are all growing green way down in Tennessee.
The Island itself will do well enough,
But the flat-footed Dutch are filthy and rough,
Oh! take us away from the vandal clan,
Down into Dixie among the gentlemen.
Chorus—And its home, dearest home, etc.
Spoiled beef and bad soup is our daily fare,
And to complain is more than any dare;
They will buck us and gag us, and cast us in a cell,
There to bear the anguish and torments of hell.
Chorus—
The den for our eating is anything but clean,
And the filth upon the tables is plainly to be seen,
And the smell of putrefaction rises on the air,
“To fill out the bill” of our daily fare.
Chorus—
[3]“The sick are well treated,” as Southern surgeons say,
“And the losses by death are scarcely four per day;”
It’s diarrhoea mixture for scurvy and small-pox,
And every other disease of Pandora’s box!
Chorus—
Oh! look at the graveyard on the Jersey shore,
At the hundreds and the thousands who’ll return no more;
Oh! could they come back to testify
Against the lying devils, and live to see them die!
Chorus—
[3]“Our kindness to prisoners you cannot deny,
For we have the proof at hand upon which you can rely;
It’s no Dutch falsehood, nor a Yankee trick,
But from Southern surgeons who daily see the sick.”
Chorus—
Our chaplain, whose heart was filled with heavenly joys,
Asked leave to pray and preach to Southern boys;
“Oh, no!” says the General, “you are not the man,
You are a Southern rebel, the vilest of your clan!”
Chorus—
Oh! speak out, young soldier, and let your country hear,
All about your treatment at Fort Delaware;
How they worked you in their wagons when weary and sad,
With only half rations, when plenty they had.
Chorus—
The barracks were crowded to an overflow,
Without a single comfort on the soldier to bestow;
Oh, there they stood shivering in hopeless despair,
With insufficient diet or clothing to wear!
Chorus—

The mother stood weeping in sorrows of woe,
Mingling her tears with the waters that flow;
Her son was expiring at Fort Delaware,
Which could have been avoided with prudence and care.
Chorus—
Oh! take off my fetters and let me go free,
To roam o’er the mountains of old Tennessee;
To bathe in her waters and breathe her balmy air,
And look upon her daughters so lovely and fair.
Chorus—
Then, cheer up, my brave boys, your country will be free,
Your battles will be fought by Generals Bragg and Lee;
And the Yankees will fly with trembling and fear,
And we’ll return to our wives and sweethearts so dear.
Chorus—
And it’s home, dearest home, the place where I ought to be,
Home, sweet home way down in Tennessee,
Where the ash and the oak, and the bonny willow tree,
Are all growing green way down in Tennessee.