There was a great stir and intense excitement one time during General Banks's administration. A number of the "rebels" were to leave for the "Confederacy." Their friends, amounting to some 20,000 persons, women and children principally, wended their way down to the levee to see them off and to take their last farewell. Such a quantity of women frightened the Federal officials: they were greatly exasperated at their waving of handkerchiefs, their loud calling to their friends, and their going on to vessels in the vicinity. Orders were given to "stand back," but no heed was given; the bayonets were pointed at the ladies, but they were not scared. A lady ran across to get a nearer view. An officer seized her by the arm, but she escaped, leaving a scarf in his possession. At last the military received orders to do its duty. The affair was called the Pocket Handkerchief War and has been put in verse, as follows: _The Greatest Victory of the War--La Battaille des Mouchoirs._ [By Capt. James Dinkins, in New Orleans _Picayune_; Southern Historical Papers, Volume 31.] [Fought Friday, February 20, 1863, at the head of Gravier Street.] Of all the battles modern or old, By poet sung or historian told; Of all the routs that ever was seen From the days of Saladin to Marshall Turenne, Or all the victories later yet won, From Waterloo's field to that of Bull Run; All, all, must hide their fading light, In the radiant glow of the handkerchief fight; And a paean of joy must thrill the land, When they hear of the deeds of Banks's band. 'Twas on a levee, where the tide of "Father Mississippi" flows, Our gallant lads, their country's pride, Won this great victory o'er her foes, Four hundred rebels were to leave That morning for Secessia's shades, When down there came (you'd scarce believe) A troop of children, wives, and maids, To wave their farewells, to bid God-speed, To shed for them the parting tear, To waft their kisses as the meed of praise to soldiers' hearts most dear. They came in hundreds; thousands lined The streets, the roofs, the shipping, too; Their ribbons dancing in the wind, Their bright eyes flashing love's adieu. 'Twas then to danger we awoke, But nobly faced the unarmed throng, And beat them back with hearty stroke, Till reinforcements came along. We waited long; our aching sight Was strained in eager, anxious gaze, At last we saw the bayonets bright Flash in the sunlight's welcome blaze. The cannon's dull and heavy roll, Fell greeting on our gladdened ear, Then fired each eye, then glowed each soul, For well we knew the strife was near.