The Batchelor Brothers

The Batchelor Brothers

Thomas Allen

[Editor's note: Unfortunately, the formatting system for this blog is not suited for poetry. It inserts a line for a hard return.]

May twentieth, eighteen and sixty-one,

Independence declared their beloved State.

To a deadly war in a fiery din

Volunteered the valiant Batchelor brothers

Of Nash County—Jackson, Henry, and Van.

To defend family, loved ones and home,

To fight for precious liberty and God,

Is what they sought, not glory, wealth, or fame.

To repel the invading horde of blue

Is why they fought a bloody war so grim.

In North Carolina they joined and trained.

Under the great General Lee they fought.

In war-torn Virginia they took their stand.

The Batchelor brothers of Company I,

With the thirtieth, fought for blood-soaked ground

Of the Virginian towns, forests, and fields.

From these sacred pure lands they strove to drive

Satan’s great regiments from their strongholds

Back into hell across the Potomac

Into the odious vile northern wilds.

After defending the town of New Bern

From marauding Yankees, Jack, Henry, and 

Van marched to the sound of the battle horn,

North to Virginia to the Seven Days’

Battle with little chance to pause and mourn.

Mechanicsville, Cold Harbor, Malvern Hill,

They slew the evil Yanks driving them back.

Henry and many good Southerners fell

Wounded that day in July on the field

Before Malvern Hill that stretched half a mile.

Two months later to Maryland they went—

Jack and Van. To Sharpsburg they did travel.

The battle they encountered was no feint.

Blood flowed free as they faced twice their number.

Green turned red before the fighting had quit.

This one day, September seventeen, was

The bloodiest day of the four-year war.

So withdrew Satan’s cruel soldiers en masse

Taking a wounded Van with them but soon 

Paroled him. To Virginia they would cross.

The devil’s thirst was nearly quenched with blood

And his hunger satisfied with bodies

Down the Bloody Lane where gullies flowed red.

With landscape carpeted with blue and gray,

The first cost of tyranny had been paid.

Many a good Southerner had been lost, 

But their struggle for priceless liberty

Had just begun against the Northern beast.

Thus ended the summer of sixty-two.

To Virginia they returned undisgraced.

The year of sixty-three, the year of great

Battles—Chancellorsville and Gettysburg—

The three brave Batchelor brothers went to fight.

With the great General Lee, they marched. With

Stonewall Jackson’s foot cavalry they fought.

At Chancellorsville, victory they won

When Jackson’s famed foot cavalry outflanked

The Devil’s flanking horde and spoiled his plan. 

Intense combat had broken the Devil’s

Back; northward fled the swine without rapine.

But good Lee’s greatest victory came dear.

His most eminent general he lost.

How horrible is the nightmare of war!

Henry gave an arm while Jack fell wounded

As his fame grew for coolness under fire.

Lee had lost his right arm and Henry his.

For Henry the combat ended, and Jack 

Was out the remainder of the year as

Was many other good Southern soldiers;

For this miscreant they had to oppose.

Northward to Gettysburg Sergeant Van marched

Through Maryland to Pennsylvania.

For the despot’s heart, he now boldly searched

In the bowls of hell in a Northern town.

He drove the foe from Gettysburg but torched 

It not. For two more long days he remained. 

The carnage of those two days, he was spared

As Satan’s lust was fed and good men pined.

Once more death was king and agony queen.

Against metal, mortal man cannot stand.

Then back to sweat Virginia Van retired.

Pursued by the Devil’s heartless horde through

The land until they met at Kelly’s Ford.

Here the thirtieth suffered large losses.

Many were captured including Van. Feared

They the worst, and the worst certainly came.

To prison they went. Van to Point Lookout.

The fighting had drawn to an end for him.

Here he stayed until the last year of war,

But he would surely suffer in this tomb.

His brutal captors dragged him off to hell.

In a damp cell he was forcibly thrown.

Hunger and cold he endured in this hole

While his fat guards burned bodies for their warmth.

Disease and death filled this sadistic hall.

Deprived of medicine, clothing, and food

In the land of plenty, this want friends were

not allowed to alleviate with aid.

As their hopelessness grew, their life became

Filled with despair. All suffered; many died.

The year of sixty-four had arrived with

One brother in prison and the other 

A cripple; Jack alone stood in their path.

With his ragged clothes and empty belly,

He would keep on fighting the behemoth

Of the North, for he held liberty dear

And knew it was not free. He continued

The struggle against Satan’s great empire.

Disease and want reared their ugly faces.

With fortitude the men in gray stayed pure.

The Great Slaughterer had taken command

Of Satan’s horde. To send his troops against

Southern lines till their shoot was spent, he planned.

He would turn his blue Yankees red, for no

Simpler or deadlier plan could be found.

What did death matter to him. His foe weak,

And he strong. At his beckoning, he had

The world; surely he would make the South shake.

He could sacrifice ten of his to kill

One of theirs. Southern blood the ground would soak.

In the Wilderness Jack met him and fought

At Union and Mule Shoe the battle raged.

With death all about, would it be his fate?

Line after line, wave after wave, on they

Came, bleeding and dying as they were shot.

On to Cold Harbor move the Southern men

Where the fighting intensified. More died

As the Great Slaughterer forced his troops on, 

But the Southern lines held, and the massive

Bloody assault proved futile while death won.

Summer came and into Maryland crossed

Jack with Early’s corps. To Washington, the 

Tyrant’s capital, they hastily raced.

He began to see the buildings and lights

Of Satan’s place as the distance closed.

Panic filled the wicked hearts as the front

Came to the Sodom on the Potomac

Where he heard depravity’s mournful rant.

But victory was not theirs. With evil’s

Strength too strong, back to Virginia he went.

To the defense of Petersburg, he came

In the last year of war. Here he would

Make his last great stand against the vile crime

That had destroyed his homeland. As he faced

The enemy’s siege, he long to be home.

Attack and counterattack, on he fought

Though he knew he had lost. But liberty

He held dear, so he continued to fight.

Weary and tired of cold and hunger, of 

Sweet home he thought. Would he die here and rot?

Then came spring, and the last great march he took.

To Appomattox Jack went. The advance

Guard was he of a future black and bleak.

On the Yankees he fired that dark morning

Of April nine, the day the South was struck

Down, the end of time, the day the South died,

The day Lee surrendered. Jack lingered on

Another weary week before he laid

Down his arms and received his parole at

Bunkeville Junction. He gave his lifeblood.

Four years they had lost, Henry, Jack, and Van.

Home they now returned to rebuild their lives

From the ruins of war. Much had to be done.

The great joy of reuniting with their

Families was short-lived, for much more pain

They would suffer. That which they had feared most

Came to past. Yankee oppressors swooped down

To devour them with a great vengeful thirst.

Allying themselves with the black horde and

White Southern traitors, the South they would waste.

Their State was reduced to a province with

No self-government. Black ignorance filled

The land. They were governed by the black death.

Their homes were pillaged; their women were raped.

Their lands burned beneath Satan’s evil wrath.

With their liberties gone, despair filled all.

They would have perished if it were not for

The hooded white knights coming forth to heal

A dying nation by driving Satan’s

Worse out of the South and back into hell.

From the Glory of War by Thomas Coley Allen (Franklinton, NC: TC Allen Co., 2006)

Copyright © 2006 by Thomas Coley Allen

[Note: Jack Batchelor is the author’s great grandfather.]