THE RIFLEMAN'S SONG AT BENNINGTON
Why come ye hither, stranger?
Your mind what madness fills?
In our valleys there is danger,
And danger on our hills!
Hear ye not the singing
Of the bugle, wild and free?
Full soon ye'll know the ringing
Of the rifle from the tree!
The rifle, the sharp rifle!
In our hands it is no trifle!
Ye ride a goodly steed;
He may know another master:
Ye forward come with speed,
But ye'll learn to back much faster,
When ye meet our mountain boys
And their leader, Johnny Stark!
Lads who make but little noise,
But who always hit the mark
With the rifle, the true rifle!
In their hands will prove no trifle!
Had ye no graves at home
Across the briny water,
That hither ye must come,
Like bullocks to the slaughter?
If we the work must do,
Why, the sooner 'tis begun,
If flint and trigger hold but true,
The quicker 'twill be done
By the rifle, the good rifle!
In our hands it is no trifle!
Within a day, eight hundred yeomen were marching under Stark's orders. He was joined by a regiment under Colonel Seth Warner, and on August 15, 1777, in the midst of a drenching rain, set out to meet the enemy.
THE MARCHING SONG OF STARK'S MEN
[August 15, 1777]
March! March! March! from sunrise till it's dark,
And let no man straggle on the way!
March! March! March! as we follow old John Stark,
For the old man needs us all to-day.
Load! Load! Load! Three buckshot and a ball,
With a hymn-tune for a wad to make them stay!
But let no man dare to fire till he gives the word to all,
Let no man let the buckshot go astray.
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire all along the line,
When we meet those bloody Hessians in array!
They shall have every grain from this powder-horn of mine,
Unless the cowards turn and run away.