££SS. 



195 



'Twus en the thick o' battle 

 When I hearn a little cry, 

 Er kind o' dyin' rattle 

 En the throat o' Bess — near by. 



I seen the gal wus dyin', 



Er bullet dun the biz, 

 An' durn nigh went to cryin' 



When I seen her eyes wus riz, 



En kinder awful painin', 



Er lookin' inter mine, 

 An' red the sand wus stainin', 



Like leaves on a frosted vine. 



I rolled my coat, er flyin', 

 An' lifted her curly head, 



Seein' the gal was dyin' 

 Frum the hole made by the lead. 



The guns was fired for hittin', 

 The reds dropped here an' thar, 



An' soon they was a quittin', 

 Leavin' we uns 'ith our ha'r. 



The boys cum back a yellin', 



Frum strippin' ev'ry red, 

 But joy wus soon a quellin', 



When they hearn thet Bess war dead. 



Thet eve we all wus mourners 

 Et the sinkin' uv the sun, 



An' Bess wus laid 'ith honers 

 Es we fired the sunset gun. 



The boys, they loved sweet Bessie, 

 An' raised to her a stone, 



An' writ this to the lassie 

 That hed left the world, alone: 



TO BESS 



A comrad as fell a nghtin', 



A nghtin' in '63. 

 'Twus Bess, sweet Bess o' Tietan, 



"Dog Bess o' Company C." 



"Is it quiet out in 'the country where you 

 live, Simpson?" 



"Quiet? Why, when T gel home at night 

 our cow comes around and sits down by 

 the porch to hoar what I have to tell." — 

 Chicago Record-Herald. 



