William Henry Drummond: Verses about Steel Arms

AN INCIDENT OF THE CANADIAN REBELLION OF 1837.

Bon jour, M'sieu'--you want to know
'Bout dat ole gun--w'at good she's for?
W'y! Jean Bateese Bruneau--mon pere,
Fight wit' dat gun on Pap'neau War!

Long tam since den you say--C'est vrai,
An' me too young for 'member well,
But how de patriot fight an' die,
I offen hear de ole folk tell.

De English don't ack square dat tam,
Don't geev de habitants no show,
So 'long come Wolfred Nelson
Wit' Louis Joseph Papineau.

An' swear de peep mus' have deir right.
Wolfred he's write Victoriaw,
But she's no good, so den de war
Commence among de habitants.

Mon pere he leev to Grande Brulé
So smarter man you never see,
Was alway on de grande hooraw!
Plaintee w'at you call 'Esprit!'

An' w'en dey form wan compagnie
All dress wit' tuque an' ceinture sash
Ma fader tak' hees gun wit' heem
An' marche away to Saint Eustache,

W'ere many patriots was camp
Wit' brave Chenier, deir Capitaine,
W'en 'long come English Generale,
An' more two t'ousan' sojer man.

De patriot dey go on church
An' feex her up deir possibill;
Dey fight deir bes', but soon fin' out
'Canon de bois' no good for kill.

An' den de church she come on fire,
An' burn almos' down to de groun',
So w'at you t'ink our man can do
Wit' all dem English armee roun'?

'Poleon, hees sojer never fight
More brave as dem poor habitants,
Chenier, he try for broke de rank
Chenier come dead immediatement.

He fall near w'ere de cross is stan'
Upon de ole church cimitiere,
Wit' Jean Poulin an' Laframboise
An' plaintee more young feller dere.

De gun dey rattle lak' tonnere
Jus' bang, bang, bang! dat's way she go,
An' wan by wan de brave man's fall
An' red blood's cover all de snow.

Ma fader shoot so long he can
An' den he's load hees gun some more,
Jomp on de ice behin' de church
An' pass heem on de 'noder shore.

Wall! he reach home fore very long
An' keep perdu for many day,
Till ev'ry t'ing she come tranquille,
An' sojer man all gone away.

An' affer dat we get our right,
De Canayens don't fight no more,
Ma fader's never shoot dat gun,
But place her up above de door.

An' Papineau, an' Nelson too
Dey're gone long tam, but we are free,
Le Bon Dieu have 'em 'way up dere.
Salut, Wolfred! Salut, Louis!

Here's to you, Uncle Kruger! slainté!
an' slainté galore.
You 're a dacint ould man, begorra; never
mind if you are a Boer.
So with heart an' a half ma boucahl, we 'll
drink to your health to-night
For yourself an' your farmer sojers gave us a
damn good fight.

I was dramin' of Kitty Farrell, away in the
Gap o' Dunloe,
When the song of the bugle woke me, ringin'
across Glencoe;
An' once in a while a bullet came pattherin'
from above,
That tould us the big brown fellows were send-
in' us down their love.

'Twas a kind of an invitation, an' written in
such a han'
That a Chinaman could n't refuse it- not to
spake of an Irishman.
So the pickets sent back an answer. 'We're
comin' with right good will,'
Along what they call the kopje, tho' to me it
looked more like a hill.

'Fall in on the left,' sez the captain, 'my
men of the Fusiliers;
You 'll see a great fight this morning -like
you have n't beheld for years.'
'Faith, captain dear,' sez the sergeant, 'you
can bet your Majuba sword
If the Dutch is as willin' as we are, you never
spoke truer word.'

So we scrambled among the bushes, the bowl-
ders an' rocks an' all,
Like the gauger's men still-huntin' on the
mountains of Donegal;
We doubled an' turned an' twisted the same
as a hunted hare,
While the big guns peppered each other over
us in the air.

Like steam from the divil's kettle the kopje
was bilin' hot,
For the breeze of the Dutchman's bullets was
the only breeze we got;
An' many a fine boy stumbled, many a brave
lad died,
When the Dutchman's message caught him
there on the mountainside.

Little Nelly O'Brien, God help her! over
there at ould Ballybay,
Will wait for a transvaal letter till her face an'
her hair is grey,
For I seen young Crohoore on a stretcher, an'
I knew the poor boy was gone
When I spoke to the ambulance doctor,an' he
nodded an' then passed on.

'Steady there!' cried the captain, 'we must
halt for a moment here,'
An' he spoke like a man in trainin' , full winded
an' strong an' clear.
So we threw ourselves down on the kopje,
weary an' tired as death,
Waitin' the captain 's orders, waitin' to get a
breath.

It 's strange all the humours an' fancies that
comes to a man like me;
But the smoke of the battle risin' took me
across the sea-
It 's the mist of Benbo I 'm seein'; an' the
rock that we 'll capture soon
Is the rock where I shot the eagle, when I was
a small gosson.

I close my eyes for a minute, an' hear my poor
mother say,
'Patrick, avick, my darlin', you 're surely not
goin' away
To join the red-coated sojers?'- but the
blood in me was strong-
If your sire was a Connaught Ranger, sure
where would his son belong?

Hark! whisht! do you hear the music comin'
up from the camp below?
An odd note or two when the Maxims take
breath for a second or so,
Liftin' itself on somehow, stealin' its way up
here,
Knowin' there 's waitin' to hear it, many an
Irish ear.

Augh! Garryowen! you 're the jewel! an' we
charged on the Dutchman's guns,
An' covered the bloody kopje, like a Galway
greyhound runs,
At the top of the hill they met us, with faces
all set and grim;
But they could n't take the bayonet - that 's
the trouble with most of thim.

So of course, they 'll be praisin' the Royals
an' men of the Fusiliers,
An' the newspapers help to dry up the widows
an' orphans' tears,
An' they 'll write a new name on the colors-
that is, if there 's room for more
An' we 'll follow them thro' the battle, the same
as we 've done before.

But here 's to you, Uncle Kruger! slainté! an'
slainté galore.
After all, you 're a dacint Christian, never
mind if you are a Boer.
So with heart an' a half, ma boucahl, we 'll
drink to your health to-night,
For yourself an' your brown-faced Dutchmen
gave us a damn good fight.

1 Dere 'a s beeg jam up de reever, w'ere rapide is runnin' fas',
2 An' de log we cut las' winter is takin' it all de room;
3 So boss of de gang is swearin', for not'ing at all can pass
4 An' float away down de current till somebody break de boom.

5 'Here 's for de man will tak' de job, holiday for a week
6 Extra monee w'en pay day come, an' ten dollar suit of clothes.
7 'T is n't so hard work run de log, if only you do it quick--
8 W'ere 's de man of de gang den is ready to say, ` Here goes?''

9 Dere was de job for a feller, handy an' young an' smart,
10 Willin' to tak' hees chances, willin' to risk hees life.
11 'Cos many a t'ing is safer, dan tryin' de boom to start,
12 For if de log wance ketch you, dey 're cuttin' you lak a knife.

13 Aleck Lachance he lissen, an' answer heem right away
14 'Marie Louise dat 's leevin' off on de shore close by
15 She 's sayin' de word was mak' me mos' happies' man to-day
16 An' if you ax de reason I 'm ready to go, dat 's w'y.'

17 Pierre Delorme he 's spikin' den, an' O! but he 's lookin' glad.
18 'Dis morning de sam' girl tole me, she mus' say to me, ` Good-bye Pierre.'
19 So no wan can stop me goin', for I feel I was comin' mad
20 An' wedder I see to-morrow, dat 's not'ing, for I don't care.'

21 Aleck Lachance was steady, he 's bully boy all aroun',
22 Alway sendin' de monee to hees moder away below,
23 Now an' den savin' a leetle for buyin' de house an' groun',
24 An' never done t'inkin', t'inkin' of Marie Louise Lebeau.

25 Pierre was a half-breed feller, we call heem de grand Nor' Wes'--
26 Dat is de place he 's leevin' w'en he work for de Compagnie,
27 Dey say he 's marry de squaw dere, never min' about all de res'--
28 An' affer he get hees monee, he 's de boy for de jamboree!

29 Ev'ry wan start off cheerin' w'en dey pass on de log out dere
30 Jompin' about lak monkey, Aleck an' Pierre Delorme.
31 Workin' de sam' as twenty, an' runnin' off ev'ryw'ere,
32 An' busy on all de places, lak beaver before de storm.

33 Den we hear some wan shoutin', an' dere was dat crazy girl,
34 Marie Louise, on de hillside, cryin' an' raisin' row.
35 Could n't do not'ing worser! mos' foolish t'ing on de worl'
36 For Pierre Delorme an' Aleck was n't workin' upon de scow.

37 Bote of dem turn aroun' dere w'en girl is commencin' cry,
38 Lak woman I wance remember, got los' on de bush t'ree day,
39 'Look how de log is movin'! I 'm seein' it wit' ma eye,
40 Come back out of all dem danger!' an' den she was faint away.

41 Ten year I been reever driver, an' mebbe know somet'ing too,
42 An' dere was n't a man don't watch for de minute dem log she go;
43 But never a word from de boos dere, stannin' wit' all hees crew,
44 So how she can see dem movin' don't ax me, for I dunno.

45 Hitch dem all up togeder, t'ousan' horse crazy mad--
46 Only a couple of feller for han'le dem ev'ry wan,
47 Scare dem wit' t'onder an' lightning, an' den 't is n't half so bad
48 As log runnin' down de rapide, affer de boom she 's gone.

49 See dem nex' day on de basin, you t'ink dey was t'roo de fight
50 Cut wit' de sword an' bullet, lyin' along de shore
51 You 'd pity de log, I 'm sure, an' say 't was terrible sight
52 But man goin' t'roo de sam' t'ing, you 'd pity dat man some more.

53 An' Pierre w'en he see dem goin' an' log jompin' up an' down
54 De sign of de cross he 's makin' an' dive on de water dere,
55 He know it 's all up hees chances, an' he rader be goin' drown
56 Dan ketch by de rollin' timber, an' dat 's how he go, poor Pierre.

57 Aleck's red shirt is blazin' off w'ere we hear de log
58 Crackin' away an' bangin', sam' as a honder gun,
59 Lak' sun on de morning tryin' to peep t'roo de reever fog--
60 But Aleck's red shirt is redder dan ever I see de sun.

61 An' w'en dey 're tryin' wake her: Marie Louise Lebeau,
62 On her neck dey fin' a locket, she 's kipin' so nice an' warm,
63 An' dey 're tolin' de funny story, de funnies' I dunno--
64 For de face, Baptême! dey see dere, was de half-breed Pierre Delorme!