Skirmish at Hurricane Bridge

Point Pleasant Weekly Register
April 30, 1863


By M. V. B. EDENS, CO. A. 13TH VA. VOL.

Between a high hill and circuitous ridge,
Is the neat little town, known as Hurricane Bridge,
Or at least, 'twas a neat little village before -
The rebellion arose in the bright days of yore.

But rebellion has banished those pleasures, so sweet,
And the wail of despair is now heard in the street -
The many fine buildings in ashes are laid
The wealth of the inmates forever decayed.

The 13th Virginia is camped near this town,
Who in a late battle have won great renown.
The regiment is formed of a brave set of boys,
Who accomplish their work without making much noise.

But Albert G. Jenkins not aware of that fact,
Came early one morning to make an attack,
With a yard of white cotton unfurled to the breeze,
His staff came into camp, while Jenkins stayed behind trees.

'Twas Samuels who brought in the banner of truce.
Says Johnson, to surrender I this morning refuse.
In the time which is given to my works I'll repair.
And give you a battle on principles fair.

When cool as an iceberg we fell into line.
To defend the bright stars which on our banner doth shine,
And to hold our position ast Hurricane Bridge,
In spite of the rebs on each neighboring ridge.

For Jenkins marched forth with his menacing host
To capture or drive us away from our post,
He threw his men round on the top of each hill
To make us surrender or fly at his will.

He thought with his men on the left and the right,
He would capture our squad without having to fight,
And with Yankee clothing he his men would equip,
And thus would secure successful his trip.

But Albert was much disappointed to find
To surrender that morning we were not inclined
Then he told all his men to prepare for the blow
And soon they'd conquer the insolent foe.

From each hill top they fired on the 13th in vain,
For each at his post did boldly remain.
For the space of four hours he fought very hard
But his incessant firing we not much did regard.

Like Jeff. Davis' scrip that's more plenty than good,
They sent in their lead from each neighboring wood
Like the insects that sing in the long days of June,
The balls from the rebs almost whistled a [tune?]

But is was not sufficient to induce us to dance,
It was like Mason in England or Slidell in France,
Who after they made known their treacherous plan,
Have to end their hard labor just where they began.

With stomach's quite empty and feet without shoes,
Each felt like a bankrupt with a spell of the blues,
Like a dishonored guest ere the bankquet [sic] is o'er
Arrives at the feast and is kept from the door.

They knew in our camp were crackers, coffee and meat,
And they longed to get in to get something to eat.
Like Cruse's man Friday, who on the mountain did stand,
And beheld in the distance, his own native land.

With obtsacles [sic] in front which he could not surmount
Was not able to settle the lengthy account,
And fell ere he crossed o'er the dark rolling wave
And found in the deep sea a watery grave.

So Jenkins after giving us a hard shower of hail
And finding with muskets he could not prevail
Sent out his command to retreat from the field,
For the 13th Virginia was too stubborn to yield.

Being tired and hungry, they left in disgust,
Aware of the fact that Albert won't do to trust;
He promised to give them both food and attire,
In short everything that a reb could desire.

Except a good thrashing they left as they came
With nothing to brighten Jeff. Davis' fame;
And Jenkins found out that one blunder he made
In seeking for sunshine he found nought but shade.

Civil War

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