We were maniacs; we were furies; we were fiends, not mortal men,
And each one fought as if his arm contained the strength of ten;
But the smoke grew denser round us, for, like a funeral pyre,
The prairie blazed before our eyes—a sea of surging fire.
It was a fearful sight, but we fought for life and fame,
And incessantly and dauntlessly we answered flame with flame,
When, breaking from the enemy’s left, a thousand lancers dashed,
A human avalanche, on us; but our batteries fiercely flashed,
And we drove them back like deer; but our brains went round and round,
When Ringold, staggering on his steed, fell, dying, to the ground!