Denn oop dere shpoke a contrapand,
Vas at de tent id's toor-
"Dere's twenty bar'ls of whiskey, hid,
In dat tabernacle, shore.
A rebel he done gone and put
It in de cellar, true,
No libin man dat secret knows,
'Cept only me an' you."
Der Stossenheim, he grossed himself,
Und knelt peside de fence,
Und gried: "O Coptain Breitmannn, see,
Die finger Providence."
Der Breitmann droed his hat afay,
Says he, "Pe't hit or miss,
I'fe heard of miragles pefore,
Boot none so hunk ash dis."
"Wohlauf mine pully cafaliers,
Ve'll ride to shoorsh to-day,
Each man ash hasn't cot a horse
Moost shteal von, rite afay.
Dere's a raw, green corps from Michigan,
Mit horses on de loose,
You men ash vants some hoof-irons,
Look out and crip deir shoes."
All brooshed und fixed, de cavallrie,
Rode out py moonen shine,
De cotton fields in shimmerin light,
Lay white as elfenbein.
Dey heard a shot close py Lavergne,
Und men who rode afay,
In de road a-velterin his his ploot,
A Federal picket lay.
Und all dat he hafe dimes to say,
"Vhile shtandin at my post,
De guerillas got first shot at me,"
Und so gafe oop de ghost.
Denn a contrapand, who helt his head,
Said: "Sah - dose grillers all
Is only half a mile from hy'ar,
A dancin at a ball."
Der Breitmann shpoke and brummed it out
Ash if his heart tid schvell:
"I'll gife dem music at dat pall
Vill tantz dem into hell."
Hei! - arrow-fast - a teufel's ride!
De plack man led de vay,
Dey reach de house - dey see de lights-
Dey heard de fiddle blay.
Dey nefer vaited for a word
Boot galloped from de gloom,
Und, bang! - a hoonderd carpine shots
Dey fired indo de room.
Oop vent de groans of vounded men,
De fittlin died away:
Boot some of dem vere tead pefore
De music ceased to blay.
Denn crack und smack coom scotterin shots
Troo vindow und troo door,
Boot bang and clang de Germans gife
Anoder volley more.
"Dere - let 'em shlide. Right file to shoorsh!"
Aloudt de orders ran.
"I kess I paid dem for dat shot,"
Shpeak grim der Breitemann.
All rosen red de mornin fair
Shone gaily o'er de hill,
A violet plue de shky crew teep
In rifer, pond, und rill;
All cloudy grey de limeshtone rocks
Coom oop troo dimmerin wood;
All shnowy vite in mornin light
De shoorsh pefore dem shtood.
"Now loudet vell de organ, oop,
To drill mit solemn fear;
Und ring also dat Lumpenglock
To pring de beoples here.
Und if it prings guerillas down,
Ve'll gife dem, py de Lord,
De low-mass of de sabre, and
De high-mass of de cord.[20]