Beyond a doubt he would notify every Northern garrison he could reach of Jackson's coming.
Suddenly the band of South Carolinians, who were still left in the Invincibles, struck up a song: "Ho, woodsmen of the mountain-side! Ho, dwellers in the vales! Ho, ye who by the chafing tide Have roughened in the gales! Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot, Lay by the bloodless spade: Let desk and case and counter rot, And burn your books of trade!" All the Invincibles caught the swing and rush of the verses, and regiments before them and behind them caught the time, too, if not the words.

The chant rolled in a great thundering chorus through the wintry forest.

It was solemn and majestic, and it quickened the blood of these youths who believed in the cause for which they fought, just as those on the other side believed in theirs.
"It was written by one of our own South Carolinians," said St.Clair, with pride.

"Now here goes the second verse! Lead off, there, Langdon! They'll all catch it!" "The despot roves your fairest lands; And till he flies or fears, Your fields must grow but armed bands Your sheaves be sheaves of spears: Give up to mildew and to rust The useless tools of gain And feed your country's sacred dust With floods of crimson rain!" Louder and louder swelled the chorus of ten thousand marching men.

It was not possible for the officers to have stopped them had they wished to do so, and they did not wish it.