And when 'twas told in Congress
That we our forts had left,
To Albany retreated,
Of all the North bereft,
Brave General Gates they sent us,
Our fortunes to retrieve,
And him, with shouts of gladness,
The army did receive.
Where first the Mohawk's waters
Do in the sunshine play,
For Herkimer's brave soldiers
Sellinger ambushed lay;
And them he there defeated,
But soon he had his due,
And scared by Brooks and Arnold,
He to the north withdrew.
To take the stores and cattle
That we had gathered then,
Burgoyne sent a detachment
Of fifteen hundred men;
By Baum they were commanded,
To Bennington they went;
To plunder and to murder
Was fully their intent.
But little did they know then
With whom they had to deal;
It was not quite so easy
Our stores and stocks to steal,
Bold Stark would give them only
A portion of his lead;
With half his crew, ere sunset,
Baum lay among the dead.
The nineteenth of September,
The morning cool and clear,
Brave Gates rode through our army,
Each soldier's heart to cheer;
"Burgoyne," he cried, "advances,
But we will never fly;
No—rather than surrender,
We'll fight him till we die!"
The news was quickly brought us,
The enemy was near,
And all along our lines then,
There was no sign of fear;
It was above Stillwater
We met at noon that day,
And every one expected
To see a bloody fray.
Six hours the battle lasted,
Each heart as true as gold,
The British fought like lions,
And we like Yankees bold;
The leaves with blood were crimson,
And then did brave Gates cry,
"'Tis diamond now cut diamond!
We'll beat them, boys, or die."
The darkness soon approaching,
It forced us to retreat
Into our lines till morning,
Which made them think us beat;
But ere the sun was risen,
They saw before their eyes
Us ready to engage them,
Which did them much surprise.
Of fighting they seem weary,
Therefore to work they go
Their thousand dead to bury,
And breastworks up to throw;
With grape and bombs intending
Our army to destroy,
Or from our works our forces
By stratagem decoy.
The seventh day of October
The British tried again,
Shells from their cannon throwing,
Which fell on us like rain;
To drive us from our stations,
That they might thus retreat;
For now Burgoyne saw plainly
He never could us beat.