Chapter VII: Canto VII

* * * 1838.
MILITIA.

'Twas a custom of the nation,
Of this grand united nation,
In the days I now am chanting,
Eighteen hundred eight and thirty,
That the military people
In the towns and in the cities,
In the villages and counties,
Should parade in drills and musters,
With the drum and fife to lead them;
Should at stated times and seasons
Herald forth their martial columns;
Should, with powder and with flint-lock,
Learn to battle and to conquer,
Learn the tactics of the army.
Brigade drills, battalion musters,
And an annual encampment,
Took in officers and soldiers,
Men of strong and wiry muscle,
Men from twenty-one and upwards,
To the age of five and forty.
'Twas in eighteen twenty-seven
That John Jennings was commander
Of the elite Light Horse Company.
Captain Travis Dodd succeeded,
And along the years that follow,
To the Sabine Volunteers, in
Eighteen hundred six and thirty,
Captain John A. Price, commander,
There were other noted heroes.
But the incident my canto
Now attunes to hum'rous mention,
Had its birth one fair October,
Eighteen hundred eight and thirty.
Colonel William Stein commanded
The renowned Cornstalk Militia,
Of the county of old Garrard,
Near the city of Lancaster.
None but officers might join them,
Colonels, Majors, and Lieutenants,
Captains, Corporals, and Sergeants;
Only officers were mustered,
In the regimental phalanx.
Stein was large and he was burly,
Was among the "sons of Anak,"
Made a Captain by Dame Nature,
In his giant-sized proportions,
Made a Colonel by his merits,
By his lofty aspirations.
But the county-seat of Garrard,
The ambitious, inland city,
Sent a popular petition,
To the capital at Frankfort,
To the legislative rulers,
For an Act incorporating
Their militia into Guardsmen.
And forthwith their prayer was granted,
Quickly granted by the rulers.
See them now, the dashing Guardsmen,
With their youthful men all mustered,
With their uniform so dainty,
With white pants and true-blue jackets,
With their bayonets and muskets,
All their jaunty sails and rigging!
By and by their martial exploits,
By and by their bold pretensions,
Won a challenge from the Cornstalks,
The redoubtable militia,
From the band of Regimentals,
Now encamped upon the river,
From the fearless giant Colonel,
To appear in his dominions.
John A. Flack, the warlike Captain
Of the brave and youthful Guardsmen,
Was not then within the city,
Was not then at post of duty;
And his men were in disorder,
Were all scattered in confusion.
But they soon began to rally,
On one fair October evening,
Rally 'round their platoon leaders,
Ready to accept the challenge.
Of their number was a stranger,
An adopted son of Garrard,
Who was light and lithe of person,
Who was full of life and vigor,
Who had visited the city,
The good city of Lancaster;
Who had joined her sports and pastimes,
Eager for the hour's amusement,
Ever foremost in adventure;
And the stranger's name was Dunlap,
And his home was in Lafayette.
He was one of twenty-seven,
Who advanced on the Militia,
At the silent hour of midnight;
Who attacked the Regimentals,
Near the bridge across Dix River,
In the county we call Lincoln;
Who invaded the dominions
Of the annual encampment,
On the fair October evening,
Eighteen hundred eight and thirty.
Sweetly rest the noble Cornstalks,
On their arms are calmly sleeping,
Resting on their arms by moonlight,
Resting, ignorant of danger.
Bright the ever-shifting heavens,
Dark the trees and woodland shadows,
'Round the band of Regimentals,
Near the river-bridge of Lincoln.
Gently came the night besiegers,
Softly marched the twenty-seven,
When a sharp, out-standing picket
Sounded forth the note of warning,
With his damp and rusty weapon,
Blazoned forth the call of danger,
With the snapping of his musket.
Quick the camp is in commotion.
"To arms!" "To arms!" shout the Militia,
The surprised and sleepy Cornstalks.
And the men run hither, thither
In a search for the assailants,
When a noise of tramping horses,
Through the river-bridge, attracts them.
'Twas a feint arranged beforehand,
To delude the Regimentals,
And they dashed on to the outskirts,
Dashed the wild, bewildered Cornstalks,
In a wayward false direction.
The young Guards meanwhile crept onward,
Softly crept to camp behind them:
Four platoons of jolly Guardsmen,
March and counter-march upon them,
Fire blank cartridges among them,
Lighting up the woods around them;
Thrust the bayonets dull before them,
March and counter-march in order,
Fire and load again the flintlocks,
Till the woodland fairly blazes.
In one of these illuminations,
Dunlap saw the foe approaching,
Coming 'round to flank the columns
Of the bold midnight invaders.
Then he ordered forth his platoon,
To cut off the brave Militia,
To arrest the flanking Cornstalks,
When pell-mell fell all together,
In the hard-contested battle.
But the weak, outnumbered Guardsmen,
--Some among the twenty-seven--
Soon were caught and held in capture,
Soon were dragged within the circle
Of the annual encampment.
All the others scampered swiftly,
Scampered off in each direction,
Struggling, seeking to escape them,
Fleeing from the Regimentals.
Dunlap found himself confronted
By a single Lincoln Cornstalk,
(Dr. Huffman, a "Militia,")
Who essayed at once to take him.
Hand-to-hand in duel comic,
They careered with flintlocks rusty,
They embraced with bayonets blunted,
Dunlap all the while retreating,
Huffman all the while pursuing,
Till a wide ravine arrested,
Stopped their wild, ferocious progress.
Not for long the pause, however;
Dunlap, lithe of limb and active,
Sprang across the yawning chasm,
Huffman, chasing, fell within it,
Rolling down the steep embankment.
Then young Dunlap, still escaping,
Running from his checked pursuer,
Saw before him in the pathway
Another hand-to-hand encounter.
It was Stein, the burly Colonel
Of the conquering Militia;
It was Stein disarming Paddy,
Irish Paddy of the Guardsmen;
Stein disarming Surgeon Buford,
Of the Lancaster Battalion.
Lucky moment for the Guardsmen,
All their men were lost but fourteen,
Fourteen men of twenty-seven;
But the man that sent the challenge,
The bold Colonel of the Cornstalks,
Was divided from his soldiers,
Was a helpless prey before them.
Taking in the situation,
Gaming courage with good fortune,
Dunlap plunged at once to aid them,
Aid the surgeon and the private,
And when three to one in number,
To arrest the burly Colonel.
Then they clinched and fell and struggled,
Then they fought and rolled and rallied,
And arose but ne'er released him,
Till the man that sent the challenge
Was compelled to cry surrender.
"I surrender, _but don't duck me_,"
Pleaded hard the gallant Colonel.
And the victors, showing mercy,
Gathered up the scattered Guardsmen,
Fourteen men of twenty-seven,
And proceeded home in triumph,
Took their captive to the city,
To the slumb'ring, quiet city,
To Lancaster on the hillside.
But the scattered Guards, returning
Through the river-bridge at midnight,
Scared and startled Dunlap's posse,
At the moment of their vict'ry,
Scared and startled Stein's besiegers,
Till they fled across the fences,
Till they dared not bear their captive
O'er the dangerous moonlit highway.
On and on the captors wandered,
Wandered over brush and briers,
Stumbling on through creeks and by-ways,
Climbing hills and wading gullies,
Sometimes running, sometimes halting,
Till the men were all exhausted,
All but Dunlap and his captive.
Paddy fell out by the wayside,
Buford lagged behind to nurse him;
Some lay down beside their muskets,
Giving up the vain exertion;
Some were nerved to struggle onward,
Eager to proclaim the tidings;
But the pris'ner tried to tire them,
In the deviating pathways,
In the windings of the by-ways,
He endeavored to elude them,
Till his giant-sized proportions
Yielded to the boyish runners,
Till his strategy and ruses
Were outwitted by the youngsters.
And the fair October morning
Was just peeping o'er the hill-tops
Of victorious Lancaster,
When the tramp of full two hundred
Broke upon the early watches;
When two hundred men, exultant,
Started forth in marching columns,
With the drum and fife resounding,
Started forth to meet the victors.
(For, a captured Guard, escaping
From the annual encampment,
From the heedless Regimentals,
Near the bridge in Lincoln county,
Had proceeded to the city,
While the moonlight yet was waning,
Had aroused the sleeping townsmen
With the herald of the vict'ry.)
And the troops went out to meet them,
Went to meet the Guards returning,
_Eight_ alone of twenty-seven.
And the doorways of the city,
All the windows of the city,
Sounded forth huzzas and shoutings,
While the handkerchiefs were waving,
Flags-of-truce, their white unfurling.
Nearer came the weary Guardsmen,
Hatless, spurless, weary Guardsmen,
With white pants, alas! all muddy;
Torn and soiled the true-blue jackets,
Scratched and worn the hands and faces.
But the great crest-fallen captive,
Was in plight both sad and comic!
With his red bandana nightcap
Wound about his head so lordly,
With his armless sleeping-jacket
Hanging on his martial figure,
He was borne aloft in triumph,
To the court-house of the city,
To the central public building,
In the middle of the city.
Then they honored him with feasting,
Served him well with cheering viands,
And they clad his martial figure
In a military outfit.
Golden crests upon the shoulders,
Gilded buttons down the vestings,
Brand-new hat and boots all shining,
Spotless coat and handsome trappings,--
These they gave the fallen hero,
Gave the helpless, conquered Colonel.
And upon a dashing charger,
On a fine dun horse of Proctor's,
He was given back his freedom,
He was sent to the encampment,
Near the river-bridge of Lincoln;
Was _exchanged for all the captives_
That the Guards had left in durance.
But he gave the man that took him,
Then and there, a martial title,
"For I cannot brook surrender
To a lower rank than Colonel."
So he called him Colonel Dunlap,
Called the stranger from Lafayette,
Called the foster-son of Garrard.
Colonel Dunlap, comes the title,
From that day unto the present;
In the private social circle,
In the halls of Legislature,
In the higher halls of Congress,
At the bar and at the fireside,
Comes the title to the present.

Thus was ended the great "Battle
Of the Bridge" across Dix River,
Where the corps of jolly Guardsmen
Captured Stein, the burly Colonel
Of the brave Cornstalk Militia,
Of the dainty Regimentals,
On the fair October midnight,
Eighteen hundred eight and thirty.[3]

[3]W. S. Miller, Jr., was made Captain of the "Mulligan Guards," a
company of Militia, in 1874.