Chapter VIII: Canto VIII

1838-1847.
MEXICAN WAR.

Still the moons are waxing, waning,
O'er the city of Lancaster;
Still the ever-moving cycle
Bears her swiftly on its pinions.
'Twas the year of eighteen hundred
One and forty when the Christians
Of the sect called Presbyterian,
Built themselves a house of worship,
Built themselves a sanctuary,
On the street that leads to southward,
From the entrance to the city.
Thus was made the first partition,
From the venerable mother,
From the church within the suburbs,
Called Republican and holy,
Where the sects were wont to gather,
In the willing, weekly worship.
And the pastors and the preachers,
Served the flock in health and sickness,
Served the flock in death and marriage,
Served them well in home and pulpit.
And the doctors and the lawyers,
All the households and the tradesmen,
Still pursued their avocations,
Still enjoyed their social pleasures,
Still advanced in arts and learning,
In the peaceful Christian city.
But a great financial crisis
O'er the people was impending;
A depression in all traffic
Drew the citizens together,
Brought about excited meetings,
To discuss important measures,
For relief amid the pressure;
To originate devices
For averting present danger.
All along this stirring epoch
There was incident and action;
There were interests of public
And of private weight and import;
Varied causes and occasions
Kept the people in commotion.
The Militia drills and musters
Still diverted men and boys;
And the quaint, unique processions,
Called "Log Cabin," ruled the hour.
Eighteen hundred four and forty,
Brought the fierce election canvass
For the presidential office;
Democrat and Whig opponents,
In the race for fame and power.
Henry Clay and Frelinghuysen
Proudly bore the great Whig banner,
James K. Polk and George M. Dallas,
Were the Democratic champions.
And the voters of Lancaster,
All the voters of the county,
Met together in the masses,
Met to celebrate the contest;
Barbecues and basket dinners,
Gathered orators and hearers,
Gathered women, men, and children,
All together in the masses.
In the wood of Isaac Myers
Politicians were assembled;
In this ample, shaded woodland
Was a glorious celebration,
Hempstalk flag-poles bore the colors,
High o'er wagon, coach, and horseman;
All the people congregated
To do homage to th' occasion.
Doctors Craig and Cross were speakers,
Also Caperton of Richmond.
Grand this gala day of feasting,
Loud the triumph and rejoicing.
But the Whigs were sore defeated,
Vain their festal acclamations.

Now a heavy cloud of sorrow
Overshadows fair Lancaster,
Shadows all the hillside city,
In the swift-revolving cycle.
When the great and vexing question
(See the hist'ry of the country)
Of the Texas annexation
Called for volunteers to aid her,
Called the Union to assist her,
In her daring revolution,
In her independent parting
From the rule of Santa Anna,
Then the city on the hillside,
Sent up wails of grief and mourning.
For the farewells to the brothers,
To the sons and gallant soldiers,
Who took up their line of marching,
For the distant, unknown countries.
On the sunny fourth of June, in
Eighteen hundred six and forty,
They led out their willing chargers,
They arrayed in mounted columns,
Down the streets that lead to northward,
From the entrance to the city.
And the mothers and the sisters,
All along the sidewalks weeping,
Waved adieux and sighs heart-rending,
To the precious forms and faces,
To the buoyant, untried soldiers,
Moving on in martial phalanx
To the Mexicana struggles,
To the fights in foreign places,
To the fatal Buena Vista.
Some alas! were gone forever,
When the bending road concealed them,
Some were hid till time eternal,
From the strained gaze that sought them.
I append the list in measures,
In the numbers of my canto;
Sing the names of sons and brothers,
Whose dear lives were put in peril.

Johnson Price, the chosen captain,
A renowned Militia hero,
Serving well his post of honor,
Was, in after days of freedom,
In eighteen hundred nine and forty,
Sent, a delegate from Garrard,
Sent to represent the county,
In the noted State Convention,
In the council of the rulers,
Met to change the Constitution.
Then out in the land to westward,
In the land of California,
He adorned his grave profession,
Was a healer of diseases,
Till the Master called him homeward,
In this distant land of strangers.
L. F. Dunlap, First Lieutenant,
Was elected by the people,
Eighteen hundred eight and forty,
To the Frankfort legislature;
Then away in California,
Where he served with judge and jury,
In the lawyer's hard vocation,
Where again he was elected
To the legislative body,
He was stricken in his vigor,
In the flush and prime of manhood,
In his youthful life of promise,
By a fearful epidemic;
Fell a victim to his friendship,
Fell beside the sick and dying.
And Lieutenant George F. Sartain
Cast his future lot in Texas.
Left the soil he represented
In the Mexicana battles.
S. McKee went out First Sergeant,
And returned among his people,
Filling prominent positions,
In the long years coming after
Horace Smith, the Second Sergeant,
Also served his native city
In the halls of Legislature,
In eighteen hundred forty-seven;
Then removed to California,
Where he practiced jurisprudence,
Was the Mayor of Sacramento,
And he died some years thereafter,
In this thriving western city.
Then the reading of the record
Of the list resumes as follows:--
George Montgomery, John Sellers--
Third and fourth in rank as Sergeants,
V. B. Smith and A. R. Harris,
Were the Corporals, first and second;
Then Third Corporal, William Jennings,
Of whose name is future mention,
In the nation's civil struggle,
Fifteen years beyond this era.
And G. Smiley, fourth in order,
Went as Corporal among them.
Private William Jennings Landram,
Was promoted to First Sergeant,
And in coming years of trial
Climbed the scroll of fame still higher.
And James Hutchison was buried
'Neath the southern gulf's deep waters;
Homeward bound, his mortal body
Found a sailor's final resting.
B. F. Graham, first a private,
Soon arose to Quartermaster,
Was assailed and killed on duty,
By the Mexican marauders;
Fell, defending army stores,
In the wagon-train advancing
From the marshes of Comargo.
Branson Wearren met his death stroke,
On the field of Buena Vista;
Found a soldier's mausoleum,
In the smoke and blood of battle.
Some were carried off by illness,
Some returned to die still later;
Others lived to serve their country,
In a sadder, fiercer conflict;
Others still, resumed the quiet
Of their own domestic circle.
Eight and seventy names are written
On the muster roll of striplings.
For the remnant, see Appendix
Of the volunteering column,
Of the valiant sons and brothers,
Of the saved and of the fated,
Of the lost and of the rescued,
Who left home the sunny morning,
In the month of June, so eager
For the clash of steel and armor,
With the fighting Mexicana.
Fare ye well, ye gallant soldiers,
Who have fought our country's battles;
Whether soon or whether later,
Whether north or whether southern,
Whether east or west or foreign,
Ye have fought them well and bravely,
In the ever-changing cycle;
Bear, ye echoes, to our patriots,
Waft, ye breezes, our sad parting.