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 on: July 25, 2014, 11:27:34 AM 
Started by Randal - Last post by Randal
Here's the lyrics!

Wilkes Booth went up to Charles Town

Costumed as a Richmond Gray

To see them hang Old John Brown

To see the martyr sway.

But Brown was serene and Heaven-bound

When away the trap door fell

Booth barely kept his breakfast down

For he caught the stench of Hell

My name is Boston Corbett

I come from Boston town

I am the little sergeant

Who shot that actor down

As the angels lifted up John Brown

And the slavers cheered and cried

And the Devil drove his dray around

To give John Booth a ride

My name is Boston Corbett

I come from Boston town

I am the little sergeant

Who shot that traitor down


Though I ran so far, so free, so fast

Hell has overtaken me at last

Now the very air has caught on fire

Now these woods will be my funeral pyre

My name is Boston Corbett

I come from Boston town

I am the little sergeant

Who shot that actor down

 on: July 25, 2014, 09:50:52 AM 
Started by Randal - Last post by Randal
A friend of mine here in Little Rock, wrote and performed this song about Boston Corbett.
Philip Martin is also a Movie critic for our newspaper. We have performed songs in my studio and I over dubbed various instruments on a song he recorded called "Cassius Clay". Listen to Philips take on Boston.


 on: July 24, 2014, 06:58:53 PM 
Started by Randal - Last post by Randal
ah, I love it! (great song)

 on: July 23, 2014, 07:47:14 PM 
Started by Randal - Last post by Mr Hess
I can hear the Stones' Its All Over Now playing too!!

 on: July 07, 2014, 06:15:56 PM 
Started by Randal - Last post by Dan
I hear Zep's  "When the Levee Breaks" . Imagine being marched out to the gallows with that intro being cranked.  Lyrics somewhat fit as well Tongue

 on: July 07, 2014, 11:17:42 AM 
Started by Randal - Last post by Randal
Four conspirators were hung. I hear Led Zep's "Gallows Pole" in the background.  Wink

 on: July 07, 2014, 11:15:57 AM 
Started by Randal - Last post by Randal
passing up and down enquire in low agonized voices "Can he live? Is there no

hope?" They are putting out the street

lamps now. "What a shame! not now!

not to-night!" There they are lit again other's necks and cry like children, and

Now the guard with drawn swords forces

the crowd backward. Great, strong Cousin

Ed says "This unnerves me; let 's go up

to Cousin Joe's." W e leave Julia and her

escort there and at brother Joe's gather

together in an upper room and talk and

talk with Dr. Webb and his wife who were

at the theatre. Dr. W . was one of the surgeons who answered the call. He says "I

asked Dr. • when I went in what it

was, and putting his hand on mine he said,

'There!' I looked and it was 'brains.' "

After a while Julia and Mr. W. came

in and still we talked and listened to

the cavalry rushing through the echoing

street. Joe was determined to go out,

but his wife couldn't endure the thought

of any one going out of the house. It

was only in the early hours of the dawn

that the gentlemen went to lie down, but

Julia sat up in a rocking chair and I lay

down on the outside of the bed beside

Cousin Ginny for the rest of the night,

while Cousin Joe and his wife's young

brother sat nodding in their chairs opposite.

There were rooms waiting for us but it

seemed safer to be together. He was still

living when we came out to Hopeton, but

we had scarcely choked down our break-
fast next morning when the tolling bells

announced the terrible truth.

Last Thursday evening we drove to the

city, and ail along our route the city was

one blaze of glorious light. From the

humble cabin of the contraband to the

brilliant White House light answered

light down the broad avenue. The

sky was ablaze with bursting rockets.

Calcium lights shone from afar on the

public buildings. Bonfires blazed in

the streets and every device that human

Yankee ingenuity could suggest in the

way of mottoes and decoration made noon

of midnight. Then as the candles burned

low and the rockets ceased, we drove home

through the balmy air and it seemed as

though Heaven smiled upon the rejoicings, and Nature took up the illumination

with a glory of moonlight that transcended all art.

To-day I have been to church through

the same streets and the suburbs with the

humble cottages that were so bright that

night shone through the murky morning,

heavy with black hangings, and on and

on, down the streets only the blackness of

darkness. The show of mourning was as

universal as the glorying had been, and

when we were surrounded by the solemn and awe-stricken congregation in the

church, it seemed as though my heart

had stopped beating. I feel like a frightened child. I wish I could go home and

have a good cry. I can't bear to be alone.

You will hear all this from the papers,

but I can't help writing it for things seen

are mightier than things heard. It seems

hard to write now. I dare not speak of

our great loss. Sleeping or waking, that

terrible scene is before me.

 on: July 06, 2014, 04:59:24 PM 
Started by Randal - Last post by Randal


T H E letter which follows was written on the date given, by Miss Julia Adelaide Shep-
ard, now living in Ogdensburg, New York. Miss Shepard is an aunt of the artist, Mr.

Charles S. Chapman, through whose good offices we are enabled to make it public for

the first time.—THE EDITOR.

"Hopeton" near Washington,

EAR FATHE R :-I t is Friday night

and we are at the theatre. Cousin

Julia has just told me that the President

is in yonder upper right hand private box

so handsomely decked with silken flags

festooned over a picture of Washington.

T he young and lovely daughter of Senator Harris is the only one of the party we

can see, as the flags hide the rest. But

we know that "Father Abraham" is

there; like a father watching what interests his children, for their pleasure rather

than his own. It has been announced in

the papers he would be there. How sociable it seems, like one family sitting

around their parlor fire. How different

this from the pomp and show of monarchial Europe. Every one has been so jubilant for days, since the surrender of Lee,

that they laugh and shout at every clown
ish witticism. One of the actresses, whose

part is that of a very delicate young lady,

talks of wishing to avoid the draft, when

her lover tells her "not to be alarmed for

there is no more draft," at which the applause is long and loud. The American

cousin has just been making love to a

young lady, who says she will never marry

but for love, yet when her mother and

herself find he has lost his property they

retreat in disgust at the left of the stage,

while the American cousin goes out at the.

right. Wc are waiting for the next scene.

T he report of a pistol is heard Is

it all in the play? A man leaps from the

President's box, some ten feet, on to the

stage. The truth flashes upon me.

Brandishing a dagger he shrieks out "The

South is avenged," and rushes through the

April 16th, 1865.

scenery. No one stirs. "Did you hear

what he said, Julia ? I believe he has killed

the President." Miss Harris is wringing

her hands and calling for water. Another

instant and the stage is crowded—officers,

policemen, actors and citizens. "Is there

a surgeon in the house?" they say. Several rush forward and with superhuman

efforts climb up to the box. Minutes are

hours, but see! they are bringing him out.

A score of strong arms bear Lincoln's

loved form along. A glimpse of a ghastly

face is all as they pass along. . . . Major

Rathbone, who was of their party, springs

forward to support [Mrs. Lincoln], but

cannot. What is it ? Yes, he too has been

stabbed. Somebody says "Clear the

house," so every one else repeats "Yes,

clear the house." So slowly one party

after another steals out. There is no need

to hurry. On the stairs we stop aghast

and with shuddering lips—"Yes, see, it is

our President's blood" all down the stairs

and out upon the pavement. It seemed

sacrilege to step near. We are in the

street now. They have taken the President into the house opposite. He is alive,

but mortally wounded. What are those

people saying. "Secretary Seward and

his son have had their throats cut in their

own house." Is it so? Yes, and the murderer of our President has escaped through

a back alley where a swift horse stood

awaiting him. Cavalry come dashing up

the street and stand with drawn swords

before yon house. Too late! too late ! What

mockery armed men are now. Weary with

the weight of woe the moments drag along

and for hours delicate women stand clinging to the arms of their protectors, and

strong men throw their arms around each

 on: July 03, 2014, 04:58:50 PM 
Started by Dan - Last post by Dan

 A must read. Sad to hear:

 on: June 24, 2014, 05:59:54 AM 
Started by Steven G. Miller - Last post by Steven G. Miller
On June 24, 1864, Corporal Boston Corbett was captured on the grounds of Walney Farm just north of Centerville, VA, when patrol of around 40 Yankee cavalrymen was overrun by a group of Mosby's guerrillas led by Maj. William Chapman. There were a few northern casualties, including the single soldier who was put on guard and several who were wounded. The rest, approximately 34 troopers, were captured. A handful of members of the 16th New York Cavalry managed to escape and only a token resistance was put up against the attackers. Corbett managed to get himself into a corner of a fence and hold off the attackers until he ran out of ammunition. The commander of the New Yorkers, Lieut. Mathew Tuck, a former sergeant in the British Army, escaped despite the fact that his horse had been shot in the head. He led a large rescue party back to the farm that afternoon, but could only recover the dead and injured.

Corbett and captured cavalrymen were robbed of all their possessions, including Corbett's pocket Bible, and taken to the nearest rail station. They began their slow journey to the prison in Andersonville, GA, where they arrived on July 12th.

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