without touching a piece of lead.
"Look up in the sky and see the shells go over
a-whiskin' their tails";
"Better not lift yer hand too high or the bullets
'll trim yer nails."
Said the captain, "Forward, you who can!" In a
jiffy I'm off on my feet
An' up to their muzzles a-clubbin' my gun, an'
the Yanks have begun a retreat.
Said a wounded boy, peering over the grain,