For in youth I had no eddercation,
’Cept crumbs pick’d up by the way,
A scratchin’ figgers on the old school house
Of our pedergogue, Milton Gray.
Of course, ye know I war one of them chaps
What with Sherman march’d ter the sea,
From Atlanter, the stronghold we’d captur’d,
Ter the forts down on the ’Gechee.
It war in Nervember we burn’d the place:
On the seventeenth we cut loose
From our base of surplies, and started orf
Ter exercute Sherman’s ruse,
That he war playin’ on Hood, the rebel,
Who’d unkiver’d his flanks ter soon,
For he left the way cl’ar for us ter raid
Ter Servanner or ter the moon!
It war on that march the ervent tuk place
Of which I am goin’ ter tell,
Of how I ran inter a nest ef bees,
And thar got a foretaste of hell!
On the sixth day out we had got well down
In Berks county, n’ar the borders,
And on that ere raid, ye may bet yer pile,
We did not car’ much for orders!
But each man dug out upon his own hook,
And rush’d for the front and plunder:
N’arly all of ’em got thar full of it,
But some of the boys went under;
For, ye see, thar war stray rebels erbout,
Who would swing ’em up by the necks,
When they cetch’d ’em totin’ erway the grub—
And hundreds parsed in thar checks!
In them days I war not at all skeery—
Impressin’ a mule, I lit out
For the front, whar the bummers war raidin’
And scourin’ the country erbout—
Stealin’ chickens, or killin’ hogs by day,
(Or goin’ through a trunk, perchance;)
Then at night they would camp for ter eat ’em,
With pickets thrown out in advance.
They would coral thar mules in the forest,
Unsling knapsacks and build a fire,
Of pine logs, dry knots, or rails from the farms;
Then, chuck full of pork, they’d rertire
Ter slumbers disturb’d by the dyin’ squeals
Of swine they had slaughter’d for tea,
’Til they thought the devils had come back from
Those Jesus druv inter the sea!
As I have told ye, I jin’d the bummers
With my mule, my gun and canteen,
And the days that I roam’d about with ’em
War the jolliest I have seen;
But as we pars’d out of Berks one mornin’,
Far erhead of the “acorn” corps,
We soon diskiver’d a fine old homestead,
And a fair young gal in the door.
Now while I did not do any stealin’,
And paid cash for all I seized,
If thar’s one thing I love it is wimin,
And, if thar pretty, I am pleas’d;
And when I saw more than a dozen bee hives
Lercated right thar in the yerd,
And the boys goin’ quickly terwards ’em,
I felt that it war mighty hard.
I spurr’d up my mule, and then prertested
Not one should be tak’n from thar;
But the fellers jist snickered right out,
And told me ter go comb my ha’r—
And dry up, for they would have them hives
If they had ter eat bees berside,
And if I did not like it I could jist
Crawl out of my pesky old hide.
Objections war no use erbout them days;
And, like a cornsumate old fool,
I drew rein at the gate ef the house, and
Watch’d ’em from the back of my mule.
Then them soldiers made a sortie on the bees
With thar ponchos, and tuk ’em quick
Ter the stream near by whar they drowned them,
And lifted the hives from the creek.
While this war doin’ I sat on that mule,
Till Dick Mullens upset a hive,
And a swarm of mad bees came tearin’ out,
And, soarin’ around, made a dive
Right squar for my mule; they lit on his flanks,
And his neck, his ears and back:—
He rear’d and snorted, threw his head in air,
Then quickly tuk a le’ard tack!
And erway on a fearful race he broke
Over fences, lorgs, ditches and rocks,
Headin’ for the water under the hill—
He near shook me out of my socks!
On his break-neck race for that brook berlow
It war needless ter pull on the rein,
For that ugly mule war dead set upon
Gittin’ rid of his bitin’ pain!
With me the siteration war quite bad—
That mule’s hide war thicker than mine;
And when they lit on me I fit a while:
Then foller’d the mule’s bee line!
We reach’d the creek—ye may not berlieve it—
But that mule went down on his knees
In that ere stream, and roll’d over on me,
Jist ter rid himself of the bees!
The muddy water war full four feet deep,
And I came quite n’ar bein’ drown’d,
As with the old mule I battl’d thar,
With the bees what war buzzin’ ’round!
I shall never forget that frisky brute,
What flounder’d erbout and shook
Them ere buzzin’ insects from orf his ears,
And danced like mad in the brook,—
One minute he lay flat upon his back—
The next balanced, on his fores,
With his tail stuck out, and kickin’ like mad,
As the bees fell on him by scores!
Wal, while this battle war ergoin’ on
’Twixt the bees and the valiant mule,
I had a chance ter crawl up ter the bank—
Don’t say that my action war cru’l—
For the critter war much better prepar’d
With his tail ter banish his foes,
While I had not a durn’d thing erbout me
Ter aid him the battle ter close.
I had had quite ernough of that skirmish,
And erway up the hill I run
As quickly as my shanks would carry me,
In sarch of my knapsack and gun.
When I had found them I war satersfied,
And did not rernew the ertack
On them wild bees; but, boys, I’m not carten
But that mule still lies on his back
Erway down thar in Berks county, fightin’
The dercendents of them mad bees
What that day swarm’d out of that broken hive!
That’s the yarn!—Who’s treat is it, please?