# The Story of the Battle Hymn of the Republic/Chapter 5

"THE Battle Hymn of the Republic" was inspired by the tremendous issues of the war, as they were brought vividly to the poet's mind by the sight of the Union Army.
My mother had seen all that she describes—she had been a part of the great procession of "burnished rows of steel" when her carriage was surrounded by the Army. She had heard the soldiers singing:
Old John Brown who had
whose spirit the army knew to be with them!
​All this sank deeply into the heart of the poet. The soul of the Army took possession of her. The song which she wrote down in the gray twilight of that autumn morning voiced the highest aspirations of the soldiers, of the whole people. Hence, when the armies of freedom heard it, they at once hailed it as their own. My mother writes in her Reminiscences:
"The poem, which was soon after published in the Atlantic Monthly, was somewhat praised on its appearance, but the vicissitudes of the war so engrossed public attention that small heed was taken of literary matters. I knew, and was content to know, that the poem soon found its way to the camps, as I heard from time to time of its being sung in chorus by the soldiers."
This was the beginning, but the interest increased as the "Battle Hymn" became more and more widely known, until it grew to be one of the leading lyrics of the war. It was "sung, chanted, recited, and used in exhortation and prayer on the eve of battle." "It was the word of the hour, and the Union armies marched to its swing."
The "singing chaplain"—Rev. Charles Cardwell McCabe of the 122d Ohio Regiment of ​Volunteers, did much to popularize this war lyric. Reading it in the Atlantic Monthly, he was so charmed with the lines that he committed them to memory before arising from his chair. A year or so later, while attending the wounded men of his regiment, after the battle of Winchester (June, 1863), he was taken prisoner and carried to Libby Prison. Here he was a living benediction to the prisoners. Deeply religious by nature and blest with a cheerful, happy disposition, he kept up the spirits of his companions, ministering alike to their bodily and spiritual needs. Thus he begged three bath-tubs for them, an inestimable treasure, even though these had to serve the needs of six hundred men. Books, too, he procured for them, for the prisoners at this time comprised a notable company of men—doctors, teachers, editors, merchants, lawyers. "We bought books when we needed bread," the chaplain tells us.
With the music of his wonderful voice he was wont to dispel the gloom that often settled upon the inmates of the prison. Many stories are told of its power, pathos, and magnetism. Whenever the dwellers in old Libby felt depression settling upon their spirits they would call out, "Chaplain, sing us a song." Then "The heavy load ​that oppressed us all seemed as by magic to be lifted."
July 6, 1863, was a dark day for the prisoners. They were required to cast lots for the selection of two captains who were to be executed. These officers were taken to the dungeon below and told to prepare for death. Then the remaining men huddled together discussing the situation. The Confederate forces were marching north, and a terrible battle had been fought. Grant was striving to capture Vicksburg, the key to the Mississippi, with what result they did not know. The Richmond newspapers brought tidings of disaster to the Union armies. In startling head-lines the prisoners read: "Meade defeated at Gettysburg." "The Northern Army fleeing to the mountains." "Grant repulsed at Vicksburg." "The campaign closed in disaster."
A pall deeper and darker than death settled upon the Union prisoners. The poor, emaciated fellows broke down and cried like babies. They lost all hope. "We had not enough strength left to curse God and die," as one of them said later.
"By and by 'Old Ben,' a negro servant, slipped ​in among them under pretense of doing some work about the prison; concealed under his coat was a later edition of the paper, on which the ink was scarcely dry. He looked around upon the prostrate host, and called out, 'Great news in de papers.' If you have never seen a resurrection, you could not tell what happened. We sprang to our feet and snatched the papers from his hands. Some one struck a light and held aloft a dim candle. By its light we read these head-lines:
"'Lee is defeated! His pontoons are swept away! The Potomac is over its banks! The whole North is up in arms and sweeping down upon him!'
"The revulsion of feeling was almost too great to endure. The boys went crazy with joy. They saw the beginning of the end." Chaplain McCabe sprang upon a box and began to sing:
and the five hundred voices sang the chorus, "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah," as men never sang before. The old negro rolled upon the floor in spasms of joy. I must not forget to add that the two captains were not executed, after all.
Chaplain McCabe remained in Libby Prison ​until October, 1863, when an attack of typhoid fever nearly cost him his life. As soon as his health would permit, he resumed his labors in behalf of the Army, this time as a delegate of the United States Christian Commission. His deep religious feeling, of which patriotism was an integral part, had a great influence among the soldiers. Wherever he went he took the "Battle Hymn" with him. "He sang it to the soldiers in camp and field and hospital; he sang it in school-houses and churches; he sang it at camp-meetings, political gatherings, and the Christian Commission assemblies, and all the Northland took it up."
As he wrote the author:
"I have sung it a thousand times since and shall continue to sing it as long as I live. No hymn has ever stirred the nation's heart like 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic.'"
I must not forget to say that the singing chaplain made excellent use of this war lyric to raise funds for the work among the soldiers. With his matchless voice he sang thousands of dollars out of the people's pockets into the treasury of the Christian Commission.
On February 2, 1864, a meeting in the interests ​of the Christian Commission was held in the hall of the House of Representatives at Washington. Hannibal Hamlin, Vice-President of the United States, presided. Abraham Lincoln was present, and an immense audience filled the hall. Various noted men spoke; then Chaplain McCabe made a short speech and, "by request," sang the "Battle Hymn." The effect on the great throng was magical. "Men and women sprang to their feet and wept and shouted and sang, as the chaplain led them in that glorious 'Battle Hymn'; they saw Abraham Lincoln's tear-stained face light up with a strange glory as he cried out, 'Sing it again!' and McCabe and all the multitude sang it again."
Doubtless many Grand Army posts have among their records stories of the inspiring influence of this song in times of trouble or danger. Such an anecdote was related at the Western home of Mrs. Caroline M. Severance, where Acker Post had been invited to meet my mother:
"Capt. Isaac Mahan affectingly described a certain march on a winter midnight through eastern Tennessee. The troops had been for days without enough clothing, without enough food. ​They were cold and wet that stormy night, hungry, weary, discouraged, morose. But some one soldier began, in courageous tones, to sing 'Mine eyes have seen—' Before the phrase was finished a hundred more voices were heard about the hopeful singer. Another hundred more distant and then another followed until, far to the front and away to the rear, above the splashing tramp of the army through the mud, above the rattle of the horsemen, the rumble of the guns, the creaking of the wagons, and the shouts of the drivers, there echoed, louder and softer, as the rain and wind-gusts varied, the cheerful, dauntless invocation of the 'Battle Hymn.' It was heard as if a heavenly ally were descending with a song of succor, and thereafter the wet, aching marchers thought less that night of their wretched selves, thought more of their cause, their families, their country."
Mr. A. J. Bloor, assistant secretary of the United States Sanitary Commission, has given us some vivid pictures of the soldiers as they sang the hymn:
"Time and again, around the camp-fires scattered at night over some open field, when the Army of the Potomac—or a portion of it—was on ​the march, have I heard the 'Battle Hymn of the Republic'—generally, however, the first verse only, but in endless repetition—sung in unison by hundreds of voices—occasions more impressive than that of any oratorio sung by any musical troupe in some great assembly-room. And I remember how, one night in the small hours, returning to Washington from the front, by Government steamer up the Potomac, with a party of 'San. Com.' colleagues and Army officers, mostly surgeons, we found our horses awaiting us at the Seventh Street dock; and how, mounting them, we galloped all the long distance to our quarters, singing the 'Battle Hymn'—this time the whole of it—at the top of our voices."
* ↑ This account of the day in Libby Prison is compiled from the Washington Star and from the Life of Chaplain McCabe.
* ↑ Life of Chaplain McCabe.
* ↑ Life of Chaplain McCabe.