Twas on the thirty-first of May, In eighteen sixty-two, The
rebels met our Union force, To see what they could do. McClellan
was near Richmond then, That nasty rebels den, Where whites the
gentlemen are crowned, Where Negroes are not men. They met and
fought with iron will Each eager to obtain The mend that every
solider loves— The victor’s glorious name. The cannon sent her
iron hall, The market, showers of lead, Which filled the air
with dying groans, And strewed the field with dead The Ninety-
Second stood firm in front, In Palmer’s bold brigade, Until in
“Dixie’s land” they had Some scores of widows made. But when
they saw they were out-flanked, They wheeled about and fled,
While many of our Northern braves Were numbered with the dead
The double guide our soldiers took, Soon left me far behind—
That aimble step I could not take, Although so well inclined.
The rebels came with savage yells, A Yankee they had found, With
curses bid me “face about,” And march away to town. They marched
me down with many more,