{"id":"01KG8AJKCSKR8RQG2XRNFGPW6Y","cid":"bafkreic3io5lst4b4wthnftw7nj6pdimdoyjqkfgiqrocik4gatxtugpyi","type":"segment","properties":{"description":"# LATER.\n\n## Overview\n\"LATER.\" is a segment of text, specifically a poem, from the collection \"[Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.](arke:01KG8AJ6FNQ0XKWBY52P8DRPC9)\". It was extracted from the file \"[battle_pieces_and_aspects_of_the_war.txt](arke:01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8)\" and is part of the larger \"[Melville Complete Works](arke:01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW)\" collection. This segment is dated to have been extracted on January 30, 2026.\n\n## Context\nThis poem segment is situated within \"[Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.](arke:01KG8AJ6FNQ0XKWBY52P8DRPC9)\", a collection of poems by Herman Melville that reflects on the American Civil War. The segment follows the poem titled \"[FRIDAY’S GREAT EVENT!](arke:01KG8AJKCSFPGGGE7T8FNE7E1S)\" and precedes the segment titled \"STORY OF SATURDAY AFTERNOON.\".\n\n## Contents\nThe text of \"LATER.\" vividly describes the harsh conditions and intense fighting during the Battle of Donelson. It details the suffering of wounded soldiers, the biting cold, and the determination of the Union troops. The poem contrasts the grim realities of war with the soldiers' unwavering resolve to achieve victory. It also touches upon the humanity shown by the Confederate soldiers towards the wounded and reflects on the moral complexities of the conflict, likening the battle to a \"perverted Bunker Hill.\" The narrative shifts to the aftermath, describing the public's anxious anticipation for news and the emotional toll the war takes on individuals. The segment concludes with the beginning of a new report, \"MORE NEWS LAST NIGHT.\", indicating a continuation of the unfolding events.","description_generated_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:22.324Z","description_model":"gemini-2.5-flash-lite","description_title":"LATER.","end_line":858,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:35.910Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"LATER.","source_file":"01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8","start_line":747,"text":"LATER.\r\n      Great suffering through the night--\r\nA stinging one. Our heedless boys\r\n  Were nipped like blossoms. Some dozen\r\n  Hapless wounded men were frozen.\r\nDuring day being struck down out of sight,\r\nAnd help-cries drowned in roaring noise,\r\nThey were left just where the skirmish shifted--\r\nLeft in dense underbrush now-drifted.\r\nSome, seeking to crawl in crippled plight,\r\nSo stiffened--perished.\r\n                        Yet in spite\r\nOf pangs for these, no heart is lost.\r\nHungry, and clothing stiff with frost,\r\nOur men declare a nearing sun\r\nShall see the fall of Donelson.\r\n  And this they say, yet not disown\r\nThe dark redoubts round Donelson,\r\n  And ice-glazed corpses, each a stone--\r\n    A sacrifice to Donelson;\r\nThey swear it, and swerve not, gazing on\r\nA flag, deemed black, flying from Donelson.\r\nSome of the wounded in the wood\r\n  Were cared for by the foe last night,\r\nThough he could do them little needed good,\r\n  Himself being all in shivering plight.\r\nThe rebel is wrong, but human yet;\r\nHe’s got a heart, and thrusts a bayonet.\r\nHe gives us battle with wondrous will--\r\nThe blufff’s a perverted Bunker Hill._\r\n\r\nThe stillness stealing through the throng\r\nThe silent thought and dismal fear revealed;\r\n        They turned and went,\r\n    Musing on right and wrong\r\n    And mysteries dimly sealed--\r\nBreasting the storm in daring discontent;\r\nThe storm, whose black flag showed in heaven,\r\nAs if to say no quarter there was given\r\n    To wounded men in wood,\r\n  Or true hearts yearning for the good--\r\nAll fatherless seemed the human soul.\r\nBut next day brought a bitterer bowl--\r\n  On the bulletin-board this stood;\r\n\r\n  _Saturday morning at 3 A.M.\r\n    A stir within the Fort betrayed\r\n  That the rebels were getting under arms;\r\n    Some plot these early birds had laid.\r\n  But a lancing sleet cut him who stared\r\n  Into the storm. After some vague alarms,\r\n  Which left our lads unscared,\r\n  Out sallied the enemy at dim of dawn,\r\n    With cavalry and artillery, and went\r\n    In fury at our environment.\r\n  Under cover of shot and shell\r\n    Three columns of infantry rolled on,\r\n    Vomited out of Donelson--\r\n  Rolled down the slopes like rivers of hell,\r\n    Surged at our line, and swelled and poured\r\n  Like breaking surf. But unsubmerged\r\n    Our men stood up, except where roared\r\n  The enemy through one gap. We urged\r\n  Our all of manhood to the stress,\r\n  But still showed shattered in our desperateness.\r\n      Back set the tide,\r\n  But soon afresh rolled in;\r\n    And so it swayed from side to side--\r\n  Far batteries joining in the din,\r\n  Though sharing in another fray--\r\n    Till all became an Indian fight,\r\n  Intricate, dusky, stretching far away,\r\n  Yet not without spontaneous plan\r\n    However tangled showed the plight;\r\n  Duels all over ’tween man and man,\r\n  Duels on cliff-side, and down in ravine,\r\n    Duels at long range, and bone to bone;\r\n  Duels every where flitting and half unseen.\r\n    Only by courage good as their own,\r\n  And strength outlasting theirs,\r\n    Did our boys at last drive the rebels off.\r\n  Yet they went not back to their distant lairs\r\n    In strong-hold, but loud in scoff\r\n  Maintained themselves on conquered ground--\r\n  Uplands; built works, or stalked around.\r\n  Our right wing bore this onset. Noon\r\n  Brought calm to Donelson.\r\n\r\nThe reader ceased; the storm beat hard;\r\n  ’Twas day, but the office-gas was lit;\r\n  Nature retained her sulking-fit,\r\n      In her hand the shard.\r\nFlitting faces took the hue\r\nOf that washed bulletin-board in view,\r\nAnd seemed to bear the public grief\r\nAs private, and uncertain of relief;\r\nYea, many an earnest heart was won,\r\n  As broodingly he plodded on,\r\nTo find in himself some bitter thing,\r\nSome hardness in his lot as harrowing\r\n      As Donelson.\r\n\r\nThat night the board stood barren there,\r\n  Oft eyes by wistful people passing,\r\n  Who nothing saw but the rain-beads chasing\r\nEach other down the wafered square,\r\nAs down some storm-beat grave-yard stone.\r\nBut next day showed--\r\n\r\n                     MORE NEWS LAST NIGHT.\r\n\r\n\r","title":"LATER."},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJ6FNQ0XKWBY52P8DRPC9","peer_type":"poetry_collection","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AJKCSFPGGGE7T8FNE7E1S","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AJKCS6DZ3QG2VTR1KT6ST","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"next"}],"ver":3,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:36.857Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:22.617Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF5C36SQEVDHC9CBNZZJH9K"}}