The Breitmann Ballads Part 9

Vhen shoost ash dis vord from his lips had gone bast, There coomed a young orterly gallopin' fast, Who gry mit amazement: "Herr Shen'ral! Goot Lord!

Dat b.u.mmer der Breitmann ish holdin' der ford!"

Der Shen'ral he ootered no hymn und no psalm, But opened his lips und he priefly say "D--n!

Dere moost hafe been viskey on dat side der rifer; To get it dose shaps vould set h.e.l.l in a s.h.i.+ver; But now dat dey hold it, ride quick to deir aid: Ho, Sickles! move promp'ly, send down a prigade!

Dat Dootchman moost vork mighty hard mit his sword If againsd a whole army he holds to de ford."

Dey spoored on, dey hoory'd on, gallopin' shtraight, But for Breitmann help coomed shoost a liddle too late, For as de Lauwine goes smash mit her pound, So on to de b.u.mmers de repels coom down: Heinrich von Sc.h.i.n.kenstein's tead in de road, Dieterich Hinkelbein's flat as a toad; Und Sepperl - Tyroler - shpoke nefer a vord, But shoost "Mutter Gottes!" und died in de ford.

Itsch'l of Innspruck ish drilled droo de hair, Einer aus Boblingen[15] - he too vash dere- Karli of Karlisruh's shot near de fence (His horse vash o'erloadet mit toorkies und hens), Und dough he like a ravin' mad cannibal fought Yet der Breitmann - der capt'n - der hero vash caught; Und de last dings ve saw, he vas tied mit a cord, For de repels had goppled him oop at de ford.

Dey shtripped off his goat und skyugled his poots Dey dressed him mit rags of a repel recruits; But von gray-haared oldt veller shmiled crimly und bet Dat Breitmann vouldt be a pad egg for dem yet.

"He has more on his pipe[16] as dem vellers allows, He has cardts yet in hand und das Spiel ist nicht aus, Dey'll find dat dey took in der Teufel to board, De day dey pooled Breitmann vell ofer de ford."

In de Bowery each beer-haus mit c.r.a.pe vas oopdone, Vhen dey read in de papers dat Breitmann vas gone; Und de Dootch all cot troonk oopon lager und wein, At the great Trauer-fest of de Turner Verein.

Dere vas wein - en mit weinen ven beoplesh did d.i.n.k Dat Sherman's great Sharman cood nefer more trink.

Und in Villiam Shtreet veepin' und vailen' vas hoor'd, Pecause der Hans Breitmann vas lost at de ford.

SECOND PART.

In dulce jubilo now ve all sings, A-vaifin' de panners like efery dings.

De preeze droo de bine-trees ish cooler und salt, Und der Shen'ral is merry venefer ve halt; Loosty und merry he schmells at de preeze, l.u.s.tig und heiter he looks droo de drees, l.u.s.tig und heiter ash vell he may pe, For Sherman, at last has marched down to the sea.

Dere's a gry from de guart - dere's a clotter und dramp, Vhen dat fery same orterly rides droo de camp Who report on de ford. Dere ish droples and awe In de face of de youf' apout somedings he saw; Und he shpeak me in Fraentsch, like he always do: "Look!

Sagre pleu! Fentre Tieu! - dere ish Breitmann - his spook!

He ish goming dis vay! Nom de Garce![17] can it pe Dat de spooks of de tead men coom down to de sea!"

Und he looks, und ve sees, und ve tremples mit tread, For risin' all swart on de efenin' red Vas Johannes - der Breitmann - der war es, bei Gott!

Coom riding' to oos-vard, right shtraight to de shpot!

All mouse-still ve shtood, yet mit oop-shoompin' hearts, For he look shoost so pig as de s.h.i.+ant of de Hartz; Und I heard de Sout Deutschers say "Ave Morie!

Braise Gott all goot shpirids py land und by sea!"

Boot Itzig of Frankfort he lift oop his nose, Und be-mark dat de shpook hat peen changin' his clothes, For he seemed like an Generalissimus drest In a vlamin' new coat und magnificent vest.

Six bistols beschlagen mit silber he vore, Und a cold mounded swordt like a Kaisar he bore, Und ve d.i.n.ks dat de ghosdt - or votever he pe- Moost hafe proken some panks on his vay to de sea.

"Id is he!""Und er lebt noch!" he lifes ve all say: "Der Breitmann - Oldt Breitmann! - Hans Breitmann! Herr Je!"

Und ve roosh to emprace him, und shtill more ve find Dat vherefer he'd peen, he'd left noding pehine.

In bofe of his poots dere vas porte-moneys crammed, Mit creen-packs stoof full all his haversack jammed, In his bockets cold dollars vere s.h.i.+nglin' deir doons Mit dwo doozen votches und four dozen shpoons, Und dwo silber tea-pods for makin' his dea, Der ghosdt hafe pring mit him, en route to de sea.

Mit goot sweed-botatoes, und doorkies, und rice, Ve makes him a sooper of efery dings nice.

Und de b.u.mmers hoont roundt apout, alle wie ein, Dill dey findt a plantaschion mit parrels of wein.

Den t'vas "Here's to you, Breitmann! Alt Schwed"[18] - bist zuruck?

Vot teufels you makes since dis fourteen nights veek?"

Und ve holds von shtupendous and derriple shpree For shoy dat der Breitmann has got to de sea.

But in fain tid we ashk vhere der Breitmann hat peen, Vot he tid; vot he pa.s.s droo - or vot he might seen?

Vhere he kits his vine horse, or who gafe him dem woons, Und how Brovidence plessed him mit tea-pods und shpoons?

For to all of dem queeries he only reblies, "If you dells me no quesdions, I ashks you no lies!"

So 'twas glear dat some derriple mysh'dry moost pe Vhere he kits all dat ploonder he prings to de sea.

Dere ish bapers in Richmond dells derriple lies How Sherman's grand armee hafe raise deir sooplies: For ve readt in brindt dat der Sheneral Grant Say de b.u.mmers hafe only shoost take vat dey vant.

But 'tis vhispered dat vhile a refolfer'll go round Der BREITMANN vill nefer a peggin' be found; Or shtarvin' ash brisner - by doonder! - not he, Vhile der Teufel could help him to ged to de sea.

BREITMANN'S GOING TO CHURCH.

"Vides igitur, Collega carissime, visitationem canonicam esse rem haud ita periculosam, sed valde amoenam, si modo vinum, groggio et cibi praesto sunt."

- Novissimae Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum, Berolini F.

Berggold, 1869. Epistola xxiii., p. 63.

D'VAS near de state of Nashfille, In de town of Tennessee, Der Breitmann vonce vas quarderd Mit all his cavallrie.

Der Sheneral kept him glose in gamp, He vouldn't let dem go; Dey couldn't shdeal de first plack hen, Or make de red c.o.c.k crow.

Und virst der Breitmann vildly shmiled, Und denn he madly shvore; "Crate h--l, mit shpoons und s.h.i.+nsherbread, Can dis pe makin war?

Verdammt pe all der discipline!

Verdammt der Sheneral!

Vere I vonce on de road, his will, Vere wurst mir und egal. [19]

"Oh vhere ish all de plazin roofs Dat claddened vonce mine eyes?

Und vhere de crand plantaschions Vhere ve gaddered many a brize?

Und vhere de plasted shpies ve hung A howlin loud mit fear?

Und vhere de rascal push-whackers Ve shashed like vritened deer?

"De roofs are shtandin fast and firm Mit repels blottin oonder; De crand blantaschions lie round loose For Morgan's men to ploonder!

De shpies go valkin out und in, Ash sa.s.sy ash can pe; Und in de voods de push-whackers Are makin foon of me!

"Oh vere I on my schimmel grey Mein sabre in mein hand, Dey should drack me py de ruins Of de houses troo de land.

Dey should drack me py de puzzards High sailen ofer head, A vollowin der Breitmann's trail To claw de repel dead."

Outspoke der bold Von Stossenheim, Who had theories of Gott: "O Breitmann, dis ish shoodgement on De vays dat you hafe trot.

You only lifes to joy yourself, Yet you, yourself moost say, Dat self-defelopment requires De religios Idee."

Dey sat dem down and argued id, Like Deutschers vree from fear, Dill dey schmoke ten pounds of knaster, Und drinked drei fa.s.s of bier.

Der Breitmann go py Schopenhauer, Boot Veit he had him denn; For he dook him on de angles Of de moral oxygen.

Der Breitmann 'low, dat 'pentence, Ish known in efery glime, Und dat to grin und bear it Vas healty und soopline.

"For mine Sout German Catolicks, Id vas pe goot, I know; Likevise dem Nordland Luterans, If vonce to shoorsh dey go.

"Boot how vas id mit oders Who d.i.n.ks philosophie?

I don't begreif de matter,"

Said Stossenheim: "Denn see.

De more dat shoorsh disgoostet you, Und make despise und bain, De crater merid ish to go, Und de crater ish your gain.

"I know a liddle shoorsh mineself, Oopon de Bole Jack road: (De rebs vonce shot dree Federals dere, Ash into shoorsh dey goed.) Dere you might make a bilcrimage, Und do id in a tay: Gott only knows vot dings you mighdt Bick oop, oopon de vay."

Denn oop dere shpoke a contrapand, Vas at de tent id's toor- "Dere's twenty bar'ls of whiskey, hid, In dat tabernacle, sh.o.r.e.

A rebel he done gone and put It in de cellar, true, No libin man dat secret knows, 'Cept only me an' you."

Der Stossenheim, he grossed himself, Und knelt peside de fence, Und gried: "O Coptain Breitmannn, see, Die finger Providence."

Der Breitmann droed his hat afay, Says he, "Pe't hit or miss, I'fe heard of miragles pefore, Boot none so hunk ash dis."