Adelaide Bushong was 90 years old when we saw her doing yard work in front of her family's South Mountain home. Doug Bast said, "Stop the car!' and introduced me as " ...the woman who writes the Civil War songs." Taking my cue I blurted out, "Do you have any good Civil War stories?" "I'm too young for that!" Adelaide scolded affectionately. Trying to do instantaneous ancestral math in my head I ventured, "I mean, stories about your grandparents... or great grandparents?" With that, Adelaide told me about her ancestors, the Bushongs, who were fiercely independent Hugenots. They had settled in the Shenandoh Valley. Our dear Adelaide is named after her grandmother, who married the hero of this song when he returned home after the war.
It's not my war
My uncle said
I will not fight
They shot him dead
Adelaide, I would have stayed
But the bushwhackers came today
I do not care for Blue nor Gray
Still they came to tear me away
To look the canon
In the eye
March into hell
And kill and die
I said, "I'll go. But first", said I
"You're parched with thirst
My well is nigh...
With water sweet
Cold and clear
I'll fill your cup
Just wait right here."
Adelaide, I've crept away
Far away my Shenandoah dear
I'll miss you more and more each day
Not you, nor they, will find me there
For many a year
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