| |
| SOUTH MOUNTAIN towered on our right, | |
| Far off the river lay, | |
| And over on the wooded height | |
| We held their lines at bay. | |
| |
| At last the mutt’ring guns were stilled, | 5 |
| The day died slow and wan. | |
| At last the gunners’ pipes were filled, | |
| The Sergeant’s yarns began. | |
| |
| When,—as the wind a moment blew | |
| Aside the fragrant flood | 10 |
| Our brierwoods raised,—within our view | |
| A little maiden stood. | |
| |
| A tiny tot of six or seven, | |
| From fireside fresh she seemed. | |
| Of such a little one in heaven | 15 |
| I know one soldier dreamed. | |
| |
| And, as we stared, her little hand | |
| Went to her curly head | |
| In grave salute. “And who are you?” | |
| At length the Sergeant said. | 20 |
| |
| “And where’s your home?” he growled again. | |
| She lisped out, “Who is me? | |
| Why, don’t you know? I’m little Jane, | |
| The Pride of Battery ‘B.’ | |
| |
| My home? why, that was burned away, | 25 |
| And pa and ma are dead, | |
| And so I ride the guns all day | |
| Along with Sergeant Ned, | |
| |
| And I’ve a drum that’s not a toy, | |
| A cap with feathers, too, | 30 |
| And I march beside the drummer boy | |
| On Sundays at review; | |
| |
| But now our bacca’s all give out, | |
| The men can’t have their smoke, | |
| And so they’re cross—why, even Ned | 35 |
| Won’t play with me and joke. | |
| |
| And the big Colonel said to-day— | |
| I hate to hear him swear— | |
| He’d give a leg for a good smoke | |
| Like the Yanks had over there. | 40 |
| |
| And so I thought when beat the drum, | |
| And the big guns were still, | |
| I’d creep beneath the tent and come | |
| Out here across the hill, | |
| |
| And beg, good Mister Yankee men, | 45 |
| You’d give me some Lone Jack, | |
| Please do—when we get some again | |
| I’ll surely bring it back. | |
| |
| Indeed I will, for Ned—says he— | |
| If I do what I say | 50 |
| I’ll be a General yet, may be, | |
| And ride a prancing bay.” | |
| |
| We brimmed her tiny apron o’er, | |
| You should have heard her laugh | |
| As each man from his scanty store | 55 |
| Shook out a gen’rous half. | |
| |
| We gave her escort, till good-night | |
| The little waif we bid, | |
| Then watched her toddle out of sight; | |
| Or else ’twas tears that hid | 60 |
| |
| Her baby form, nor turned about | |
| A man, nor spoke a word | |
| Till after while a far, faint shout | |
| Upon the wind we heard! | |
| |
| We sent it back—then cast sad eye | 65 |
| Upon the scene around. | |
| A baby’s hand had touched the tie | |
| That brothers once had bound. | |
| |
| That’s all—save when the dawn awoke | |
| Again the work of hell. | 70 |
| And through the sullen clouds of smoke | |
| The screaming missiles fell; | |
| |
| Our General often rubbed his glass, | |
| And marveled much to see | |
| Not a single shell that whole day fell | 75 |
| In the lines of Battery “B!” | |
| |
