The tone of the Southern songs was not only a good deal more ferocious and savage than that of those of the North, but there were fewer indications of that spirit of humor which pervaded the Northern camps, and found expression in the soldiers' songs. There is, however, one Southern piece of verse, descriptive of the emotions of the newly drafted conscript, which has an original flavor of comicality, although evidently inspired by the spirit of Yankee Doodle:-- THE VALIANT CONSCRIPT. How are you, boys? I'm just from camp, And feel as brave as Cæsar; The sound of bugle, drum, and fife Has raised my Ebenezer. I'm full of fight, odds shot and shell, I 'll leap into the saddle, And when the Yankees see me come, Lord, how they will skedaddle! Hold up your head, up, Shanghai, Shanks, Don't shake your knees and blink so, It is no time to dodge the act; Brave comrades, don't you think so? I was a ploughboy in the field, A gawky, lazy dodger, When came the conscript officer And took me for a sodger. He put a musket in my hand, And showed me how to fire it; I marched and countermarched all day; Lord, how I did admire it! With corn and hog fat for my food, And digging, guarding, drilling, I got as thin as twice-skimmed milk, And was scarcely worth the killing. And now I'm used to homely fare, My skin as tough as leather, I do guard duty cheerfully In every kind of weather. I'm brimful of fight, my boys, I would not give a "thank ye" For all the smiles the girls can give Until I've killed a Yankee. High private is a glorious rank, There's wide room for promotion; I 'll get a corporal's stripes some day, When fortune's in the notion. 'T is true I have not seen a fight, Nor have I smelt gunpowder, But then the way I 'll pepper 'em Will be a sin to chowder. A sergeant's stripes I now will sport, Perhaps be color-bearer, And then a captain--good for me-- I 'll be a regular tearer. I'll then begin to wear the stars, And then the wreaths of glory, Until the army I command, And poets sing my story. Our Congress will pass votes of thanks To him who rose from zero, The people in a mass will shout, Hurrah, behold the hero! (Fires his gun by accident.) What's that? oh dear! a boiler's burst, A gaspipe has exploded, Maybe the Yankees are hard by With muskets ready loaded. On, gallant soldiers, beat'em back, I 'll join you in the frolic, But I 've a chill from head to foot, And symptoms of the colic.