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While we know our northern friends may not feel it, in the South, Spring is here. So we thought we'd share a few of our gardening sites appropriate for this time of the year. Along with gardening, there's grilling, and getting ready to diet so that you can fit back into that bathing suit this summer!


 

 

 

The Charge of the Nigger Ninth on San Juan Hill

By George E. Powell


Hark! O'er the drowsy trooper's dream,
There comes a martial metal's scream,
That startles one and all!
It is the word, to wake, to die!
To hear the foeman's fierce defy!
To fling the column's battle-cry!
The "boots and saddles" call.

The shimmering steel, the glow or morn,
The rally-call of battle-horn,
Proclaim a day of carnage, born
For better or for ill.
Above the pictured tentage white,
Above the weapons glinting bright,
The day god casts a golden light
Across the San Juan Hill.

"Forward!" "Forward!" comes the cry,
As stalwart columns, ambling by,
Stride over graves that, waiting, lie
Undug in mother earth!
Their goal, the flag of fierce Castile
Above her serried ranks of steel,
Insensate to the cannon's peal
That gives the battle birth!

As brawn as black--a fearless foe;
Grave, grim and grand, they onward go,
To conquer or to die!
The rule of right; the march of might;
A dusky host from darker night,
Responsive to the morning light,
To work the martial will!
And o'er the trench and trembling earth,
The morn that gives the battle birth
Is on the San Juan Hill!

Hark! sounds again the bugle call!
Let ring the rifles over all,
To shriek above the battle-pall
The war-god's jubilee!
Their's, were bondmen, low, and long;
Their's, once weak against the strong;
Their's, to strike and stay the wrong,
That strangers might be free!

And on, and on, for weal or woe,
The tawny faces grimmer go,
That bade no mercy to a foe
That pitties but to kill.
"Close up!" "Close up!" is heard, and said,
And yet the rain of steel and lead
Still leaves a livid trail of red
Upon the San Juan Hill!

"Charge!" "Charge!" The bugle peals again;
'Tis life or death for Roosevelt's men!
The Mausers make reply!
Aye! speechless are those swarthy sons,
Save for the clamor of the guns--
Their only battle-cry!
The lowly stain upon each face,
The taunt still fresh of prouder race,
But speeds the step that springs a pace,
To succor or to die!

With rifles hot--to waist-band nude;
The brawn beside the pampered dude;
The cowboy king--one grave--and rude
To shelter him who falls!
One breast--and bare,--howe'er begot,
The low, the high--one common lot:
The world's distinction all forgot
When Freedom's bugle calls!

No faltering step, no fitful start;
None seeking less than all his part;
One watchward springing from each heart,
Yet on, and onward still!
The sullen sound of tramp and tread;
Abe Lincoln's flag still overhead;
They followed where the angels led
The way, up San Juan Hill!

And where the life stream ebbs and flows,
And stains the track of trenchant blows
That met no meaner steel,
The bated breath--the battle yell
The turf in slippery crimson, tell
Where Castile's proudest colors fell
With wounds that never heal!

Where every trooper found a wreath
Of glory for his sabre sheath;
And earned the laurels well;
With feet to field and face to foe,
In lines of battle lying low,
The sable soldiers fell!

And where the black and brawny breast
Gave up its all--life's richest, best,
To find the tomb's eternal rest
A dream of freedom still!
A groundless creed was swept away,
With brand of "coward "--a time-worn say
And he blazed the path a better way
Up the side of San Juan Hill!
For black or white, on the scroll of fame,
The blood of the hero dyes the same;
And ever, ever will!

Sleep, trooper, sleep; thy sable brow,
Amid the living laurel now,
Is wound in wreaths of fame!
Nor need the graven granite stone,
To tell of garlands all thine own
To hold a soldier's name!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

History of Negro Soldiers in the Spanish-American War, and other items of Interest, 1899

History of the Negro Soldier in the Spanish American War

 


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