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Breitmann As A Bummer
by [?]

DER SHENERAL SHERMAN holts oop on his coorse,
He shtops at de gross-road und reins in his horse.
“Dere’s a ford on de rifer dis day we moost dake,
Or elshe de grand army in bieces shall preak!”
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 Bummer 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 hell in a shiver;
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 Lauwiné goes smash mit her pound,
So on to de Bummers de repels coom down:
Heinrich von Schinkenstein’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 Böblingen[1] – 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[2] 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 crape 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 dink
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.


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,
Lustig und heiter he looks droo de drees,
Lustig 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 Fræntsch, like he always do: “Look!
Sagre pleu! Fentre Tieu! – dere ish Breitmann – his
He ish goming dis vay! Nom de Garce! [3] can it pe
Dat de spooks of de tead men coom down to de sea!”