Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose,

Roaring around like the very deuce.

Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack;

After 'em, boys, and drive 'em back,

Bull-dog, terrier, cur, and fice,

Back to the beggarly land of ice.

Worry 'em, bite 'em, scratch and tear

Everybody and everywhere.

Old Kentucky is caved from under;

Tennessee is split asunder,

Alabama awaits attack,

And Georgia bristles up her back.

Old John Brown is dead and gone,

Still his spirit is marching on,—

Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys,

Long as an ape's from Illinois.

Want a weapon? Gather a brick,

A club or cudgel, a stone or stick,

Anything with a blade or butt,

Anything that can cleave or cut;

Anything heavy, or hard, or keen;

Any sort of slaying machine;

Anything with a willing mind

And the steady arm of a man behind.

Want a weapon? Why, capture one;

Every Doodle has got a gun,

Belt and bayonet, bright and new.

Kill a Doodle and capture two!

Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire,

All, call all! to the feast of fire,

Mother and maiden, child and slave,

A common triumph or a single grave.

The street ballad did not exist in the South, so far as I can discover, and the popular song-books were very few in comparison with those of the North. There were some, however, printed on discolored paper and with worn-out type. Among them were The New Confederate Flag Songster, S. C. Griggs, Mobile; The General Lee Songster, John C. Schreiner & Son, Macon and Savannah; The Jack Morgan Songster, compiled by a captain in General Lee's army; and Songs of Love and Liberty, compiled by a North Carolina lady, Raleigh, 1864. Like the Northern song-books, they contained an admixture of the popular negro melodies with the songs of the war, and there are but few instances of any genuine and native expression. The song which gave the title to The Jack Morgan Songster, however, has a good deal of force and vigor, and was evidently written by the camp fire. It is entitled Three Cheers for our Jack Morgan:—

The snow is in the cloud,

And night is gathering o'er us,

The winds are piping loud,

And fan the flame before us.

Then join the jovial band,

And tune the vocal organ,

And with a will we 'll all join in

Three cheers for our Jack Morgan.

Chorus. Gather round the camp fire,

Our duty has been done,

Let's gather round the camp fire

And have a little fun.

Let's gather round the camp fire,

Our duty has been done,

'T was done upon the battle field,

Three cheers for our Jack Morgan.

Jack Morgan is his name,

The peerless and the lucky;

No dastard foe can tame

The son of old Kentucky.

His heart is with his State,

He fights for Southern freedom;

His men their General's word await,

They 'll follow where he 'll lead 'em.

He swore to free his home,

To burst her chains asunder,

With sound of trump and drum

And loud Confederate thunder.

And in the darksome night,

By light of homesteads burning,

He puts the skulking foe to flight,

Their hearts to wailings turning.

The dungeon, dark and cold,

Could not his body prison,

Nor tame a spirit bold

That o'er reverse had risen.

Then sing the song of joy,

Our toast is lovely woman,

And Morgan he's the gallant boy

To plague the hated foeman.

The tone of the Southern songs was not only a good deal more ferocious and savage than that of those of the North, but there were fewer indications of that spirit of humor which pervaded the Northern camps, and found expression in the soldiers' songs. There is, however, one Southern piece of verse, descriptive of the emotions of the newly drafted conscript, which has an original flavor of comicality, although evidently inspired by the spirit of Yankee Doodle:—