Honoring A True Son Of Louisiana

~ "Gus": In Song And Verse ~


~ Gen. Beauregard ~

When war clouds gathered about our land,
And out of the North came a hostile band,
Threatening the South with her deadly wrath,
He stood like a fire brand in their path;
And the Northmen found the fight went hard,
When they met our gallant Beauregard.

When the battle raged fierce and high,
And the rattling shots like hailstones fly,
When the booming cannons roar and swell,
And the air is filled with bursting shell,
He's foremost there on the blood-drenched sward,
And the cry is "On with Beauregard."

Like magic spark of Promethean fire,
His very name the soul doth inspire;
And a thousand voices loud and strong,
Shout as he rideth the ranks along,
Waving the banner starred and barr'd,
"To glory or death with Beauregard!"

Well may the enemy quake with fear,
Whene'er that terrible name they hear.
'Mid the dash of waves and the cannons roar,
They heard it on Carolina's shore,
When Sumter blackened, smoked and scarred,
Fell to our valiant Beauregard.

That fearful day on Manassas plains,
'Twas thundered forth in their ears again,
When madly over heaps of dead,
The panic stricken hirelings fled,
Cursing the hour that, e'er they war'd
With the lion-hearted Beauregard.

On the crimson field of Shiloh, too,
When the shells like shrieking demons flew,
When the lurid smoke obscured the air,
And havoc and death were everywhere,
We drove them back from the blood stained sward,
The cry was still for Beauregard.

There is a page in the book of fame -
On it is written a single name,
In letters of gold. on spotless white,
Encircled with stars of quenchless light;
Never a blot that page hath marred,
And the star wreathed name is Beauregard.




~ Beauregard's Bells ~

When Beauregard was at a stand,
He rang a peal through Dixie's Land;

And on the faithful he did call,
To send their bells, - both large and small,

Bells from churches - bells from boats, -
Bells from cows, and bells from goats;

Every kind of bell was there,
From bronzy brown, to brassy fair;

Every Belle must send her Beau,
A contribution to the show;

Some were cracked, and some were sound,
But all to New Orleans were bound;

But soon a change came o'er the scenes,
Enacting down in New Orleans;

Lord Lovell made a grand skedaddle
In a high cocked hat, and a shanghai saddle;

(Spoken: - Why what in Jerusalem was it about, I want to know?)

Old Pic, says he, "these bells shall be
A tribute sweet to Liberty."

"No more their notes shall traitors call
Our fair Columbia to enthrall:"

Then Yankee Doodle, he shall ring
The Orleans bells, - and make them sing.




~ Gen Gilmore VS. Beauregard! ~

Round the South Atlantic Shores,
Hark! the Parrott gun now roars,
In tones of bolting thunder, Gilmore has opened fight
Against Charleston and her forts.
Hark! the Navy now reports;
The battle-storm is raging most fiercely day and night.

Fort Sumpter of renown,
Her walls are tumbling down,
Fort Wagner and Fort Gregg, their capture most complete.
Fort Moultrie half despoiled,
Concerted plans well foiled.
Brave Dahlgren still advancing with his Iron Fleet.

After forty days bombard,
Gilmore to Beauregard,
Summoned a surrender of Island and of Fort,
And in default thereof
His shells would throw aloft,
Their lodgment they should find in the place where traitors sport.

Come now Beauregard, consider
Full two days to surrender,
Or Charleston I will shell, non-combatants having fled;
I'll rend your works asunder
And blow your Forts to thunder,
And sweep through obstructions with my Navy Iron-clad.

But Beauregard replied
I cannot coincide,
I'll hold at all hazards my defences most complete;
Now your Parrotts I defy,
To your Iron clads reply,
Now Gilmore vs. Beauregard with balls each other greet.

With unrelenting ire,
Brave Gilmore opened fire
From Parrott gun and Monitors, hark! fire thunder loom,
The flames now flash around;
Cries Gilmore I am bound
To plant the stars and stripes upon your highest dome.



~ General G. T. BEAUREGARD ~

Upon all Lincoln wretches hard,
He'll come and cut without regard,
There black eyes out,
He'll teach them what it is to feel,
The temper of his Southern steel,
And to thrice wicked hearts reveal,
His arm so stout.

These sepulchers of dead men's bones,
These abolition foggy crones,
These wicked meddling hellish drones,
He'll smite their band.
The Beechers, Motts, and Greelys too,
With bitter tears their course they'll rue,
And wish they'd never followed blue
Laws of the land.

He'll come upon them at his ease,
He'll scatter them like dancing fleas,
And boil them like a mess of peas
Into the pot.
They'll cry and weep and howl and wail,
Their noise will be of no avail,
He'll cook them well from head to tail,
The precious lot.

So here's a health to Beauregard,
Who at Manassas fought so hard,
And whipped the Northern Yankee horde,
Against their wishes.
He'll use them up with thundering force,
And fill their minds with deep remorse.
And cause them all to have recourse
To metallic dishes.


"Gen'l Pierre G. T. Beauregard
Commanding South Atlantic Coast
Commanded Confederate Army
Second Day
Battle of Shiloh
April 7, 1862."



Single-sided announcement of the upcoming class "M" drawing of the Louisiana State Lottery Company, which:

"... will take place at New Orleans, Tuesday, December 13, 1881, under the immediate supervision and management of Gen. G. T. Beauregard, of Louisiana, and Gen. Jubal T. Early, of Virginia."

Top prize, $100,000; tickets from $1 to $10.

Evolution Of A Monument
(Information Coming Soon!)

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