Being some small account of the war experience of an East River pilot, whose boat was the Susquehanna, familiarily known as the Susq, and who lost his leg and more at Gettysburg.

At de break o' day I goes t' bed, an' I goes to work

at dusk,

Fer ev'ry night dat a boat can run I takes de wheel

o' de Susq.

De nights is long in de pilot-house? Well, now

d'ye hear me speakin'?

No night is long since de one I spent wid me sta'b'ard

side a-leakin'.

I'd gone t' de war an' was all stove in, an' I seen

how a little white hand

Can take holt of a great big chump like me an'

make him drop his sand.

An' her face! De face o' de Holy Mary warn't

any sweeter 'n hern!

If ye like I'll set de wheel o' me mind an' let 'er

drift astern.

We'd fit all day till de sun was low an' I t'ought de

war was fun,

Till a big ball skun de side o' me face an' smashed

de end o' me gun.

Den anodder one kicked me foot off—see? an'

I tell ye it done it cunnin',

An' I trun meself in de grass, kerplunk, but me

mind kep' on a-runnin'.

Next I knowed I was feelin' o' somebody's face,

an' I seen de poor devil was cryin',

An' he tumbled all over me tryin't' r'ise, an' he

cussed an' kep' turnin' an' tryin';

"Good Gawd!" sez I, "what's de matter wid you?

Shut up yer face an' hark,"

An' s' help me, de odder man's face was mine an'

I was alone in de dark.

When I lay wid me back ag'in de world I seen how

little I was

An' I knowed, fer de firs' time in me life, how deep

an' broad de sky was;

An' me mind kep' a-wanderin' off 'n de night, till

it stopped where de Bowery ends,

An' come back a-sighin' an' says t' me dat it couldn't

find no friends.

Den I fumbled me breat' till I cert'inly t'ought

I never could ketch it ag'in.

If I'd bin a-bawlin' t' git a prize ye bet cher life

I'd 'a' win.

If ye're dyin' an' ain't no home in de world an'

yer fr'ends is all on de shelf,

An' dere's nobody else t' bawl fer ye—ye're goin'

t' bawl fer yerself.

De sun peeped over de hills at last, an' as soon as

I seen his rim

De dew in de valley was all afire wid a sort o' a

ruby glim.

De blue coats lay in de tumbled grass—some

stirrin' but most o' 'em dead—

'Pon me word, de poor devils had bled so much,

de dew in de valley were red!

An' what d'ye t'ink? de nex' t'ing I knowed, a

lady had holt o' me hand,

An' smoothed de frills all out o' me face an' brushed

off de dew an' de sand.

No lady had ever mammied me an' I were scairt

so I dassent say boo,

I warn't in no shape t' help meself an' I didn't

know what she'd do.

An' me heart was a-t'umpin' ag'in me ribs, an' me

lettin' on I was dead!

Till she put down her cheek so close to me mug

dat I had t' move me head.

An' she lifted me head wid her sof' white hands

an' I don't know all she done;

I was blubberin' so dat I couldn't see, but I knowed

I were havin' fun.

I lay wid me head 'n de lady's lap while de doctors

cut an' sawed,

An' dey hurted me so dat me eyes was sot, but I

never cussed er jawed.

An' she patted me cheek an' spoke so sof' dat I

didn't move a peg,

An' I t'ought if dey'd let me lay dere awhile dey

could saw off de odder leg.

Fer de loss o' me leg, t'ree times a year, I gets me

little wad,

But dere ain't any pension fer losin' yer heart

unless it comes from Gawd.

If anythin' busts ye there, me boy, I t'ink ye'll be

apt t' find

Ye'll either drop out o' de game o' life, er else go

lame in yer mind.

I never c'u'd know de reason why, till de lady

helt me head,

Dat a man 'll go broke fer de woman he loves er

mebbe fight till he's dead.

When I t'inks dat I never had no friends an' what

am I livin' fer?

I fergits dat I'm holdin' de wheel o' de Susq, an'

I sets an' t'inks o' her.

An' I t'inks how gentle she spoke t' me, an' I t'inks

o' her sof', white hand,

An' de feel o' her fingers on me face when she

brushed off de dew an' de sand.

An' I set a-t'inkin' an' turnin' me wheel, sometimes

de whole night t'rough,

An' de good Gawd knows I'd a giv' me life, if she'd

only 'a' loved me too.