Part 11

Und ash dey rode droo Vinchesder, so herrlich to be seen, Dere coomed some repel cavallrie a riden' on de creen; Mit a sassy repel Dootchman - an colonel in gommand, Says he, "Vot Teufel makes you here in dis mein Faderland?

"You're dressed oop like a shentleman mit your plackguart Yankee crew, You mudsills and meganics! Der Teufel put you droo! Old Yank, you ought to shtay at home und dake your liddle horn, Mit some oldt voomans for a noorse" - der Breitmann laugh mit shkorn.

"Und should I trink mein lager beer und roost mine self to home? I'fe got too many dings like you to mash beneat' my thoom: In many a fray und fierce foray dis Dootchman will be feared Pefore he stops dis vightin' trade - 'twas dere he grayed his peard."

"I pools dat peard out py de roots - I gifes him such a dwist Dill all de plood roons out, you tamned old Apolitionist! You creenpacks mit your swordt und vatch, right ofer you moost shell, Und den you goes to Libby stright - und after dat to h-ll!"

"Mein creenpacks and mein schlaeger, I kits 'em in New York, To gife dem up to creenhorns, young man, is not de talk;" De heroes shtopped deir sassin' here und grossed deir sabres dwice, Und de vay dese Deutschers vent to vork vos von pig ding on ice.

Der younger fetch de older such a gottallmachty shmack Der Breitmann dinks he really hears his skool go shplit and crack; Der repel shoomps dwelfe paces back, und so he safe his life: Der Breitmann says: "I guess dem shoomps, you learns dem of your vife."

"If I should learn of vomans I dinks it vere a shame, Bei Gott I am a shentleman, aristograt, and game. My fader vos anoder - I lose him fery young- Der Teufel take your soul! Coom on! I'll split your vaggin' tongue!"

A Yankee drick der Breitmann dried - dat oldt gray-pearded man- For ash the repel raised his swordt, beneat' dat sword he ran. All round der shlim yoong repels vaist his arms oldt Breitmann pound, Und shlinged him down oopon his pack and laidt him on der ground.

"Who rubs against olt kittle-pots may keep vhite - if he can, Say vot you dinks of vightin' now mit dis oldt shentleman? Your dime is oop; you got to die, und I your breest vill pe; Peliev'st dou in Moral Ideas? If so, I lets you free."

"I don't know nix apout ideas - no more dan 'pout Saint Paul, Since I'fe peen down in Tixey I kits no books at all; I'm greener ash de clofer-grass; I'm shtupid as a shpoon; I'm ignoranter ash de nigs - for dey takes de Tribune.

"Mein fader's name vas Breitmann, I heard mein mutter say, She read de bapers dat he died after she rooned afay; Dey say he leaf some broperty - berhaps 'tvas all a sell- If I could lay mein hands on it I likes it mighty vell."

"Und vas dy fader Breitmann? Bist du his kit and kin? Denn know dat ich der Breitmann dein lieber Vater bin?" Der Breitmann poolled his hand-shoe off und shooked him py de hand; "Ve'll hafe some trinks on strengt' of dis - or else may I be tam'd!"

"Oh! fader, how I shlog your kop," der younger Breitmann said; "I'd den dimes sooner had it coom right down on mein own headt!" "Oh, never mind - dat soon dry oop - I shticks him mit a blaster; If I had shplit you like a fish, dat vere an vorse tisasder."

Dis fight did last all afternoon - wohl to de fesper tide, Und droo de streets of Vinchesder, der Breitmann he did ride. Vot vears der Breitmann on his hat? De ploom of fictory! Who's dat a ridin' py his side? "Dis here's mein son," says he.

How stately rode der Breitmann oop! - how lordly he kit down! How glorious from de great pokal he drink de beer so prown! But der Younger bick der parrel oop und schwig him all at one. "Bei Gott! dat settles all his dings - I know dou art mein son!"

Der one has got a fader; de oder found a child. Bofe ride oopon one war-path now in pattle fierce und vild. It makes so glad our hearts to hear dat dey did so succeed- Und damit hat sein Ende DES JUNGEN BREITMANN'S LIED.

BREITMANN IN MARYLAND.

DER BREITMANN mit his gompany Rode out in Marylandt. "Dere's nix to trink in dis countrie; ine droat's as dry as sand. It's light canteen und haversack, It's hoonger mixed mit doorst; Und if ve had some lager beer I'd trink oontil I boorst. Gling, glang, gloria! Ve'd trink oontil ve boorst.

Herr Leut'nant, take a dozen men, Und ride dis land around! Herr Feldwebel, go foragin' Dill somedings goot is found. Gotts-donder! men, go ploonder! Ve hafn't trinked a bit Dis fourdeen hours! If I had beer I'd sauf oontil I shplit! Gling, glang, gloria! Ve'd sauf oontil ve shplit!"

At mitternacht a horse's hoofs Coom rattlin' droo de camp; "Rouse dere! - coom rouse der house dere! Herr Copitain - ve moost tromp! De scouds have found a repel town, Mit repel davern near, A repel keller in de cround, Mit repel lager beer!! Gling, glang, gloria! All fool of lager beer!"

Gottsdonnerkreuzschockschwerenoth! How Breitmann broked de bush! "O let me see dat lager beer! O let me at him rush! Und is mein sabre sharp und true, Und is mein var-horse goot? To get one quart of lager beer I'd shpill a sea of ploot. Gling, glang, gloria! I'd shpill a sea of ploot.

"Fuenf hoonderd repels hold de down, One hoonderd strong are ve; Who gares a tam for all de odds Vhen men so dirsty pe." And in dey smashed and down dey crashed, Like donder-polts dey fly, Rash fort as der vild yaeger cooms Mit blitzen droo de shky. Gling, glang, gloria! Like blitzen droo de shky.

How flewed to rite, how flewed to left De moundains, drees, und hedge; How left und rite de yaeger corps Vent donderin' droo de pridge. Und splash und splosh dey ford de shtream Vhere not some pridges pe: All dripplin' in de moondlight peam Stracks vent de Cavallrie. Gling, glang, gloria! Der Breitmann's cavallrie.

Und hoory, hoory, on dey rote, Oonheedin' vet or try; Und horse und rider shnort and blowed Und shparklin' bepples fly. Ropp! Ropp! I shmell de parley-prew! Dere's somedings goot ish near. Ropp! Ropp! - I scent de kneiperei; Ve've got to lager beer! Gling, glang, gloria! Ve've got to lager beer!

Hei! how de carpine pullets klinged Oopon de helmets hart! Oh, Breitmann - how dy sabre ringed; Du alter Knasterbart! De contrapands dey sing for shoy To see de rebs go down, Und hear der Breitmann grimly gry: Hoorah! - ve've dook de down. Gling, glang, gloria! Victoria, victoria! De Dootch have dook de down.

Mid shout and crash and sabre flash, And vild husaren shout De Dootchmen boorst de keller in, Und rolled de lager out; Und in de coorlin' powder shmoke, Vhile shtill de pullets sung, Dere shtood der Breitmann, axe in hand, A knockin' out de boong. Gling, glang, gloria! Victoria! Encoria! De shpicket beats de boong.

Gotts! vot a shpree der Breitmann had Vhile yet his hand was red, A trinkin' lager from his poots Among de repel tead. "Tvas dus dey vent at mitternight Along der moundain side; 'Tvas dus dey help make history! Dis vas der Breitmann's ride. Gling, glang, gloria! Victoria! Victoria! Cer'visia, encoria! De treadful mitnight ride Of Breitmann's vild Freischarlinger, All famous, broad, und vide.

BREITMANN AS A BUMMER