Winchester Army Bulletin

YE COPPERHEAD.

Fellow Soldiers of the Cumberland, loyal,
brave and true,
Who have left your fire-sides Southern traitors
to subdue,
Let's send home for a "Copperhead," a regular
blatant "cuss,"
And the beauties of a soldier's life make him
share with us.
We'll put him in a 'pup-tent,' the cold ground
for his bed,
With no "rubber" underneath, no "government"
overhead;
Let him sleep there till morning, shivering
and in pain,
And each succeeding night should he the same
thing do again.
At breakfast time no dainty dish his appetite
would tempt,
For from such little luxuries most soldiers are
exempt.
"Sow-belly" should he breakfast on, rusty, poor
and black,
Accompanied by coffee weak, and miserable
hard tack.
Then—preparations quickly make, get every-
thing in trim,
March him off on picket, and may a 'secesh
picket at him,
May every bush a rebel seem, strange sounds
salute his ears,
And all he sees and all he hears but serve to
wake his fears,
Let him "slosh" around shoeless, and in mud-
puddles fall,
And always late to dinner, also, at bugle call
While shivering 'round the camp-fire may he
burn his boots and clothes,
The smoke blow always in his eyes & curl sting-
ing up his nose.
May he six months without money be, and no
"trusting sutlers" about
And should he get his canteen filled may it
somehow all leak out,
May he never have a postage stamp, and for
his aching jaw,
Of tobacco not quite half enough for even half
a "chaw."
Forced marches may he have to make in snow,
rain and mud,
The driving rain his clothing soak, the chill
winds freeze his blood.
And that the beauties of a march he might
better see,
Rheumatic twinges all day have, and the
chronic diarrhoea.
From Nashville to Huntsville the coming sum-
mer days,
Let him "hoof it" on the dusty pike beneath
the sun's hot rays,
His feet with blisters covered, his limbs all weak
and lame,
And I guess he'll think: a soldier's life is any-
thing but tame.
Infested may his clothing be with all the little
"fry"
That the soil of Alabama can so abundantly
supply;
Shiftless and lazy weeks to go, no clean rags
for his back.
Have all his shirts to wash in water scant and
black,
And when the conflict rages fierce, keep him
always in front,
Let him feel besides exposure to the battle's
fiercest front,
Let "minnies" whistle around his head, shriek-
ing shells burst near,
Let him keenly feel the agonies which only
the guilty fear.
And finally, in a hospital, minus a leg or so,
Somewhat emaciated and most dreadfully low,
We'll lay what's left of Copperhead upon a dir-
ty bunk,
To regain his wasted energies on weak tea and
tough "junk."
To the call of Uncle Abram we cheerfully all
flew,
Severed the ties which bound our hearts, bid
cherished ones adieu.
And now we'll not brook the insults that's
heaped upon our heads
By the traitors, northern cowards, the slimy
"Copperheads."
None are too wise to be mistaken
but few are so wisely. just as to ac-
knowledge and correct their mistakes
of prejudice: