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
Copyright © 1997 - 2008 Rex Allen Gooch

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