The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Then came a roar of British cheers,
Half spiled by Tory yelps an' screamin',
An' then the British grenadiers,
Full trot, with baggonets a-gleamin.
Of course I let 'em seem to beat
At first, to make 'em spry an' bolder,
An' sorter fetched a sham retreat,
Jest keepin' watch acrost my shoulder.
I tell ye 'twas a splendid sight
To see the Johnny Bulls a-comin',
Their ranks in line, their muskets bright,
Their chubby faces full of fight,
Their colors flyin', drummers drummin'.
At last I reached the very spot
Whereon I'd figured out to flail 'em,
They still a-chargin', pipin' hot,
An' bawlin' like the ass of Baalam.

149

“There was a slantin pressapace
Ten times as high as Shiloh steeple,
With zigzag steps adown the face,
Dug out, I spose, by neighbor people.
I jumped the humpty dumpty brink,
An' bumpety-bumpt from top to bottom,
A-laughin' all the way to think
How sure an' sartinly I'd got 'em.
An' so I had; adown the cliff
They fluttered after their bellwether,
Hell-bent, but sojer-like an stiff,
With gaiters swingin' all together.
Of course they perished there an' then,
The very thing on which I reckoned;
I jedge about two thousen' men
Were smashed to jell in half a second.
It was the most decisive squabble
I ever finished single-handed;
It made the British army hobble
From Newport Island, half disbanded.”