Good for the Ague

Well, I have certainly not posted much during February. Between snow, cold temperatures, more snow, starting to go to the gym to workout often, and more snow, I just have not found the time to post much here in recent weeks - at least those are my official excuses.

I also have not finished a Civil War book lately, though I should fix that in the next few days. The last book I read was about the origins  of baseball - it was interesting, but not really material for here, or so I thought.

Tonight, I dip back into The Civil War in Song and Story 1860-1865 by Frank Moore. The version I have was published in 1882 and though it's falling apart at places, still has many interesting tales.

Tonight's story is a short one from pages 464-465, simply called "Good for the Ague" which seems rather appropriate for this time of the year.

A Southern paper gave the following novel treatment for curing chills.

"It is stated that a soldier of a Mississippi regiment at Pensacola went to his tent and blankets, the other day, to fight through an ague. A bottle of hot water to his feet not being convenient, some of his comrades went out and picked up one of the numerous shells Colonel Brown sent over during the bombardment, heated it at the fire, and put it to bed with the sick man's feet. Unhappily, the shell had lost its cap, but had not exploded. The heat of the camp fire accomplished what Lincoln pyrotechny had failed in, to wit, an explosion. The tent was blown to pieces, and some of the men a little hurt and greatly astonished."

Well, if that didn't cure it, I guess nothing will.

Soldiers' Aid Societies (a poem)

I found this tribute on pages 55 and 56 of the 1882 version of The Civil War in Song and Story 1860-1865 by Frank Moore. This book actually has many fascinating stories and tales, some of which I have previously shared and more of which will follow over time.  I really like the perspectives such stories, tales, songs, poems and other prose pieces provide.


Soldiers' Aid Societies

To the quiet nooks of home,
To the public halls so wide,
The women, all loyal hurrying come,
And sit down side by side,
To fight for their native land,
With womanly weapons girt,
For dagger a needle, scissors for brand,
While they sing the song of the shirt

O women with sons so dear,
O tender, loving wives,
It is not money you work for now,
But the saving of precious lives.
'Tis roused for the battle we feel -
O for a thousand experts,
Armed with tiny darts of steel,
To conquer thousands of shirts!

Stitch - stitch - stitch
Under the sheltering roof,
Come to the rescue, poor and rich,
Nor stay from the work aloof:
To the men who are shedding their blood,
To the brave, devoted band,
Whose action is honor, whose cause is good,
We pledge our strong right hand.

Work - work - work,
With earnest heart and soul -
Work - work work,
To keep the Union whole.
And 'tis O for the land of the brave,
Where treason and cowardice lurk,
Where there's all to lose or all to save,
That we're doing this Christian work.

Brothers are fighting abroad,
Sisters will help them here,
Husbands and wives with one accord
Serving the cause so dear.
Stand by our colors to-day -
Keep to the Union true -
Under our flag while yet we may
Hurrah for the Red, White and Blue.