Charleston, S. C. July 15.--On Wednesday last the pickets of the
Eutaw Battalion entered
Legare's, the enemy having — to use their own expressive term--“skedaddled” the day previous.
The first feature meeting the eyes of the advancing confederates was a number of mock sentinels stationed at intervals along the road.
The dummies were neatly manufactured out of old clothes, and, with the addition of damaged gun-stocks, looked quite the martial
Yankee.
They were doubtless posted on the road with the hope of frightening off the confederate pickets.
Of course the countrymen of
Barnum did not succeed with their little humbug.
Our pickets found the deserted encampment covered with fragments of commissary stores; there were thousands of empty bottles, boxes, tin cans, etc. The rogues had undoubtedly been living luxuriously.
What was more interesting, however, our men captured a large quantity of Yankee letters, documents and newspapers.
The walls of the houses at
Legare's were variously inscribed, most of the language being too indecent for repetition here.
Appeals were frequently made to the victorious con federates thus, “Now, boys, don't give up the old flag,” or “Boys, we are not fighting about the nigger, but for the Old Flag and the Old Union.”
Some facetious rogue indulged in the following: We had our whisky on the Fourth of July; say, “Secesh, how about your whisky on the Fourth?”
Another undaunted individual gave vent to his feeling in this style:
Chivalric Southerners.
Dear Sirs: As the hot season is at hand, you do not appear to be resorting to the usual fashionable resorts of the summer, we, the army of liberty, have concluded to withdraw from your marshes, and leave you to enjoy, as best you can, until weather sets in next fall, when we shall return and spend the winter season in your noble city near
Sumter.
The following lines of doggerel were scribbled on one of the walls.
The runaway writer has some fun in him, and we can almost forgive the hasty manner in which he left our shores without visiting
Charleston:
twenty-Eighth of June--good-Bye.
air--
Mary Blane.
Oh!
farewell, Carolinians,
We are going far away;
Don't cry — we'll soon be back,
Another game to play.
Chorus — Oh!
farewell! oh! farewell!
Our parting's full of pain;
But do take care yourselves, my dears,
We are coming back again.
Your swampy land's too hot for us,
We are going off to cool;
But never mind, our Monitor
Will put you all to school.
When last you saw a
silver dime,
The truth it must be said;
To search your empty pockets, boys,
They'll answer “
nary red.”
We've tried to eat your beef, boys,
It was too tough and dry--
It matched your biscuits made of corn,
Your
coffee made of
rye.
What think you of
Jeff Davis now--
Now wasn't he a fool
To stuff his ears with
Cotton, boys,
And trust to
Johnny Bull?
You thought the
French would help you,
But that, too, was “
no go;”
“
Nap” has other fish to fry,
Way down in
Mexico.
Oh!
when we meet again, my boys,
There'll be a pretty
muss; Don't cry, you've not seen the last
Of our
green fag and
us.
The Yankee newspapers captured are not of very late date, and it would be useless, therefore, to make extracts from them.
They are redolent with magnificent Federal victories, in every one of which there are accounts of “splendid bayonet-charges” upon the rebels.
The Boston
Herald of June second announces the capture of
Vicksburgh and
Little Rock, and the flight of the
Governor of
Arkansas into
Mississippi.
A graphic picture in
Frank Leslie's represents
Beauregard watering his horse in hell.
It was engraved after one of the numerous Federal reports of the death of our hero.--
Charleston Courier, July 15.
