23rd Poems

The following poem is found on page 455 of the History of Sullivan County Missouri.

" It was written in honor of the Twenty-Third Missouri Volunteer Infantry, which was largely made up of Sullivan County men. The spelling and punctuation is exactly as written on the original. It vividly describes the hardships endured by the brave men. Being held in a prison camp was almost worse than death. No toilet facilities were readily available. Dysentary, flies, lack of shelter, blankets, inadequate water supply, which was often contaminated from the latrines. One prisoner personally stated the men picked the undigested grains of corn from the horse and mule dung, whch was dropped when the animals hauled supplies into the camp, and ate the grains to avert starvation as long as possible. Teeth fell out, sores covered their bodies, and health failed. So many died they were hauled from the stockade by wagons, Such is the price for liberty. "

Poem written by: Private John Peter Bagley
Parole prisoner, Co I, 23rd Mo Vol
Osage City Jan 22, 1863

(Pvt John Peter Bagley died of disease on Oct 22, 1863 at Rolla Missouri)

"THE NOBLE TWENTY THIRD"
Tune Duane Street

Attention give both far and near
A truthful story you shal hear
And I speak I pledge my word
Its of the noble Twenty Third

And as we marched along each street
The fifes did play and drums did beat
And flags were waved and shouts were heard
In honor of the Twenty Third

We marched along the ( ? ) boat
Oer which the stars and stripes did float
And from the cheers we might infered
That much depend pon the Twenty Third

And on the 5th at Pittsburg Landing
We disembarked, Tindall Commanding
And laid us down upon the ground
And there we slept all night quite sound

Early next morning, breakfast oer
We heard the thundering cannons roar
Our knapsacks slung we started out
To ascertain what twas bout

We met the wounded by the score
Some mourned and groaned while others swore
They said that if we went ahead
Wed soon be number with the dead

But onward, onward was our motto
Until the little field we got to
And there we formed a line of battle
Mid cannons roar and muskets rattle

The shot and shell came whizzing-by
As we behind the fence did lie
Intending if the rebs did come
To send them to their final home

An aid came dashing up and said
The Twenty Third must go ahead
Redeem the camp that had been lost
No matter what might be the cost

Brave Tindall with his sword in hand
Raised his stirups and gave command
At quick step forward we did rush
And met the rebels in the brush

The leaden hail flew thick and fast
A scattered death at every blast
Yet nothing daunted or dismayed
Our muskets manfully we played

The rabid rebels fierce for blood
Came rushing on us like a flood
But ah the noble Twenty Third
Firm as gibralter never stirred

We drove them back time and again
And many were the rebels slain
At length by thousands al around
Our selves completely bagged we found

About this time brave Tindall fell
And many more we loved so well
But worse than all the stripes and stars
Lay furled beneath the stars and bars

Although we of our arms were stripped
We felt that we could not be whipped
And hoped that we might have the luck
With equal numbers to try our pluck

For months in Dixie we did stay
And on the ground we had to lay
Without a blanket or a bed
While our forms the vermin fed

With musty bread and beef as bad
We very little of it had
Our house we used without a broom
For kitchen, priva, dining room

But thank the Lord weer now exchanged
And though our ranks are some deranged
This matter we will soon set right
And then we're ready for a fight

And if we ever have a chance
We'll either die or els advance
And pay them for their beef and bread
With bayonets and cone shaped lead

Come fellow soldiers to your post
Prepare to meet the rebel host
Together all with one accord
And hast to join the Twenty Third

In January sixty three
This was composed for you and me
It has once more our memory stirred
In honor of the Twenty Third

A second poem has been found composed by Pvt Bagley, when a letter written July 17, 1863 by Pvt Abraham B. Tilly of Company I , was sent to me which included this poem:

Composed on the death of John W. Burns, of Company I, 23rd Missouri Volunteers, in the hospital, at Benton Barracks, on the 13th of September 1862.

"The Dying Soldier"

I sat upon the bedside of a paroller prisoner,
He said that he was fearful hid final end drew near,
And oh, the dreadful mountain of sin that bears me down,
To ruin beneath God's righteous frown.

I oft have been entreated to turn and serve the Lord
As oft my heart I've haerdened and scorn God's Holy Word.
But now I see my folly, I fear it is too late,
My percious time I've squandered, and dreadful is my state.

My father, now in glory, has often prayed for me,
Likewise my dear old mother, whom now I'd love to see.
Go tell her that I want her to pray for my poor soul,
That we may dwell together while endless ages roll.

I bade him look to Jesus, the sinners only friend,
By faith and time and true repentance, and on his love depend,
For Christ said, come unto me, and i will all forgive,
And if you will believe me, 'tis only look and live.

His voice to heaven he raisedin agonizing prayers,
He prayed the Lord in mercy once more his life to spare.
He said for he'd never for sake him to run in follys ways,
But shouted halleluiah, and Glory to the Lord.

He prayed for all his comrades who lay so near his heart,
He said he hoped they'd meet him where they no more should part,
Farewell to mother and sister, I hope in the last days,
To meet you all in glory, he said and prayed away.

Poem written by: Private Peter Bagley
Paroled prisoner, Co I, 23rd Mo Vol
Benton Barracks, St Louis Missouri
September 13, 1862

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