FREEDOM AT McNEALY'S.
ALL around old Chattanooga, War had left his wasteful trace; And the rebels, quelled and baffled, Freed, reluctantly their slaves.
On his spacious, cool, veranda— Stood McNealy, gaunt and tall, With bowed head, and long arms folded, Pond'ring on his blacks, enthralled.
Years and years, he'd been their master, Harsh and stern his reign had been; Many an undeserving lashing, He had rudely given them.
All his life he'd been a despot; Ruling all with iron hand; Never till this deadly conflict, Had he e'er brooked one command.