It seems that, unlike me, some of my ancestors weren’t very nice people. One of them, old Pennock, would go around chasing the poor rebs with his hounds. His exploits were immortalized in:

The Call of Quantrill

Up! comrades, up! The moon’s in the west,
and the hounds of old Pennock will find out our nest.
We must be gone ere the dawning of day;
the Quantrill they seek shall be far, far away.
Their toils after us shall ever be vain.
Let them scout through the brush and scour the plain
We’ll pass through their midst in the dead of the night.
We are lions in combat and eagles in flight.

Rouse, my brave boys, up, up and away; press hard on the foe ere the dawning of day;

Look well to your steeds so gallant in chase.
May they never give o’er till they win in the race.
When old Pennock is weary and the chase given o’er,
we’ll pass through their midst and bathe in their gore.
We’ll come as a thunderbolt comes from the cloud;
we’ll smite the oppressor and humble the proud.
Few shall escape us and few shall be spared,
for keen is our saber, in vengeance ’tis bared;
For none are so strong, so mighty in fight,
as the the warrior who battles for our Southern right.

Chorus

Though the bush is our home, the green sod our bed,
our drink from the river, and roots for our bread,
We pine not for more; we bow not the head,
for freedom is ever within the green wood.
Tyrants shan’t conquer and fetters shan’t bind,
for true are our rifles; our steeds like the wind.
We’ll sheathe not the sword; we’ll draw not the rein,
till Pennock is banished from valley and plain.
Chorus