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In the month of April, 1861, he was appointed MajorGeneral of the Ohio State forces, mustered into the United States service April 23d of that year, and on the 14th of May, ensuing, was commissioned as MajorGeneral in the United States army, and assigned to the Department of Ohio, including Western Virginia. Since then his course is of public notoriety.



I have a sad tale worth relating,

And stating to you;
And more so, by my estimating,

Because it is true.
'Tis about little Eddie, the drummer,

And young refugee;
Whose mother, with him was a comer

From East Tennessee.

'Twas a few days before we had orders,

Brave Lyon to join.
And march to where Wilson's creek borders.

Missouri's fair line,
That our drummer was sick and unable

More duty to do,
When a “contraband,” stalwart and sable,

Our lines ventured through.

Then straightway the "boy" was arrested,

And marched to the tent;
Where our captain politely requested-

“For what was you sent ?”
He replied that he knew of a drummer,

Would like to enlist, -
A boy who was lately a comer

From Tennessee -East.

The captain commanded, “inform him,

I'll give extra pay,
If he'll be on the ground in the morning,

For marching away.”
A good-looking middle aged woman,

Next morning was seen,
With a lad, sharp and sprightly uncommon,

Not more than thirteen.

Her story was briefly narrated

A poor refugee, By murderous Rebels unmated,

In East TennesseeShe sought in St. Louis a sister,

Her burden to share; But she had unluckily missed her

Not finding her there.

She craved but the boon of a station.

For her drummer boy; Then she, in some honest vocation,

Her time would employ. Thus having rehearsed her brief story,

The captain looked grum: “Fear not,” cried the lad, “it's my glory,

And sure I can drum."

Said the captain, “ Well, well, (to the sergeant,)

“ The fifer must come, Go tell him our business is urgent,

And bring you the drum.” By side of the long legged fifer,

From far Illinois, He seemed a diminutive cypher,

That refugee boy.

Stooping down from his tall elevation,

To see who had come. The fifer made interrogation,

“My man can you drum ?”

“Yes, sir ; 0 I wish that last summer,

You'd been there to see, How for brave Captain Hill I was drummer,

In East Tennessee."

The fifer struck up, (for his trying,)

A beautiful tune;
Which at once set his drum sticks a flying,

Like hail stones in June.
Was it fifing, or piping, or tooting,

Of difficult chime,
The drummer boy skillfully put in,

The rub-a-dub time.

Says the captain, "good madam, I'll take him,

Pray what is his name ?” “Edward Lee,” she said, “ do not forsake him,

Return him the same." Said he, “ In six weeks we'll restore,

It cannot be more;
Should he 'scape all the dangers before him,

And may-be in four.”
Said she, “I trust him in your keeping."

And fast fell her tears-
She kissed Eddie, and went away weeping,

With motherly fears.
We marched, and were soon in that battle,

Too dreadful to tell,-
Boomed the cannons, and muskets did rattle,

And brave Lyon fell !

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That sound, when permitted to follow,

Little Eddie, I found, With his back to a log in the hollow,

His seat was the ground. His drum, which was hanging quite near him,

On a bush that grew there, He beat that his comrades might hear him,

And come to his care.

He saw me, and then stopped his drumming,

As quick as you'd think"O corporal, I'm glad of your coming,

O, give me some drink !" I turned to the brook for some water,

My canteen was dryO, corporal,” he cried do not loiter,

And leave me to die !"

Returning I quickly discovered

That both of his feet,
As he sat with his limbs all uncovered,

Were shot off complete !
He drank, then said, “ do but assure me

You don't think I'll die ! This man said the surgeon could cure me,

This man that's near by.”

I perceived that a Rebel lay near him,

Whose spirit had fled:
Pitying Eddie, he had tried to cheer him,

Himself was now dead.
He was shot in his bowels, (so said he,)

And crawled along there,
And trying to save little Eddie,

He died without care.

He had taken his buckskin suspender,

And corded each limb Of Eddie so careful and tender

The Lord pity him !

While hearing this pitiful story,

And viewing the scene,
The foe rushed upon us, all gory,

Adown the ravine.

The leader took up little Eddie,

And quickly we sped,
And soon reached their camp, when already

The poor boy was dead!
His mother, now wailing and mourning,

A poor refugee;
God grant her a happy returning

To East Tennessee.



CAPTAIN S. BARD, with a scouting party of twentyeight horsemen, left Covington about four o'clock on Sunday evening, taking the Independence pike, and when about eight miles out, branching off to the right.

The night being fine, they rode the greater part of the time, and after having gone a distance of about twenty-seven miles, they returned, passing near a little settlement called Ficksville. Captain Bard was at this time a hundred yards in advance of his party, and came upon an armed horseman. As he approached him, he opened with—“Good morning."

“Good morning,” replied the horseman. “Is there any danger about here?” said Captain Bard. “From whom ?“Why, from the Federals." Oh, no,” was the reply; "there's no danger of them

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