- description
- # FURTHER.
## Overview
This is a segment from a poem titled "FURTHER.", extracted from [Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.](arke:01KG8AJ6FNQ0XKWBY52P8DRPC9). It is part of a larger collection called [Melville Complete Works](arke:01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW). The segment describes a battle and its aftermath, including the perspectives of soldiers and civilians. It was extracted on January 30, 2026.
## Context
The segment is part of [Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.](arke:01KG8AJ6FNQ0XKWBY52P8DRPC9), a poetry collection by Herman Melville. The source file for this segment is [battle_pieces_and_aspects_of_the_war.txt](arke:01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8). This segment is preceded by [LATER FROM THE FORT.](arke:01KG8AJKCSSBJ0JZFF9XYBQFAQ) and followed by [FRIDAY’S GREAT EVENT!](arke:01KG8AJKCSFPGGGE7T8FNE7E1S).
## Contents
The segment describes a battle, likely the Battle of Fort Donelson, and its immediate aftermath. It depicts a fierce charge by Confederate forces ("a yelling rout/Of ragamuffins") against Union lines, led by officers "Splendid in courage and gold lace." The Union troops initially fall back but rally and break the Confederate sally, though with losses. The segment also describes a failed Union assault on a Confederate redoubt, highlighting the obstacles and heavy casualties.
Following the battle, the segment portrays the harsh conditions faced by the Union soldiers: lack of blankets, coats, tents, and fires, as well as cold rations. A midnight sally is anticipated. The poem then shifts to a scene with civilians, including a "cross patriot," a group of cheering boys, and a Copperhead expressing skepticism about the Union's chances. The segment concludes with the posting of a brief sheet announcing a "GLORIOUS VICTORY OF THE FLEET!"
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- description_title
- FURTHER.
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- 2026-01-30T20:47:35.910Z
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- text
- FURTHER.
A yelling rout
Of ragamuffins broke profuse
To-day from out the Fort.
Sole uniform they wore, a sort
Of patch, or white badge (as you choose)
Upon the arm. But leading these,
Or mingling, were men of face
And bearing of patrician race,
Splendid in courage and gold lace--
The officers. Before the breeze
Made by their charge, down went our line;
But, rallying, charged back in force,
And broke the sally; yet with loss.
This on the left; upon the right
Meanwhile there was an answering fight;
Assailants and assailed reversed.
The charge too upward, and not down--
Up a steep ridge-side, toward its crown,
A strong redoubt. But they who first
Gained the fort’s base, and marked the trees
Felled, heaped in horned perplexities,
And shagged with brush; and swarming there
Fierce wasps whose sting was present death--
They faltered, drawing bated breath,
And felt it was in vain to dare;
Yet still, perforce, returned the ball,
Firing into the tangled wall
Till ordered to come down. They came;
But left some comrades in their fame,
Red on the ridge in icy wreath
And hanging gardens of cold Death.
But not quite unavenged these fell;
Our ranks once out of range, a blast
Of shrapnel and quick shell
Burst on the rebel horde, still massed,
Scattering them pell-mell.
(This fighting--judging what we read--
Both charge and countercharge,
Would seem but Thursday’s told at large,
Before in brief reported.--Ed.)
Night closed in about the Den
Murky and lowering. Ere long, chill rains.
A night not soon to be forgot,
Reviving old rheumatic pains
And longings for a cot.
No blankets, overcoats, or tents.
Coats thrown aside on the warm march here--
We looked not then for changeful cheer;
Tents, coats, and blankets too much care.
No fires; a fire a mark presents;
Near by, the trees show bullet-dents.
Rations were eaten cold and raw.
The men well soaked, come snow; and more--
A midnight sally. Small sleeping done--
But such is war;
No matter, we’ll have Fort Donelson._
“Ugh! ugh!
’Twill drag along--drag along”
Growled a cross patriot in the throng,
His battered umbrella like an ambulance-cover
Riddled with bullet-holes, spattered all over.
“Hurrah for Grant!” cried a stripling shrill;
Three urchins joined him with a will,
And some of taller stature cheered.
Meantime a Copperhead passed; he sneered.
“Win or lose,” he pausing said,
“Caps fly the same; all boys, mere boys;
Any thing to make a noise.
Like to see the list of the dead;
These ‘_craven Southerners_’ hold out;
Ay, ay, they’ll give you many a bout”
“We’ll beat in the end, sir”
Firmly said one in staid rebuke,
A solid merchant, square and stout.
“And do you think it? that way tend, sir”
Asked the lean Cooperhead, with a look
Of splenetic pity. “Yes, I do”
His yellow death’s head the croaker shook:
“The country’s ruined, that I know”
A shower of broken ice and snow,
In lieu of words, confuted him;
They saw him hustled round the corner go,
And each by-stander said--Well suited him.
Next day another crowd was seen
In the dark weather’s sleety spleen.
Bald-headed to the storm came out
A man, who, ’mid a joyous shout,
Silently posted this brief sheet:
GLORIOUS VICTORY OF THE FLEET!
- title
- FURTHER.