  By Marion Jackson Hall. They heard the guns a-roaring, They sounded far and wide; They saw the rebels coming, Up every mountain side. The mountaineers, no longer tame, From every hill and thicket came, They rushed up every mountain side To plunge into the swelling tide. Ferguson knew, both good and well, He would have to fight, on hill or dell, But the number of rebels, he could not tell. They were advancing, and walking fast, When now they blew a long, shrill blast. A smoke now covered the battlefield With deaf'ning sound, of warlike peal. The British flag was waving high, When through the smoke there came a cry— A cry from amidst the cloud did ring From men that fought for England's king. The English flag, they took it down, Their leader was dead, and on the ground, And panic stricken, they were found. The rebels raged and charged again And captured more than a thousand men; They raised their flag up at top mast, They saw and knew they were gaining fast. The thunder roared, the lightning flashed, And through the cloud some horsemen dashed, The field was high, but there was mud, For it was wet and red with blood. It was a short, but bloody fight, It filled the Tories all with fright— They whipped the Tories, that was right. The battlefield with blood was red, And covered with wounded and with dead. They smote and fell, who raised a hand, To wipe the rebels from the land. The Americans won that glorious fight That put them all to thinking right, They believed they should soon make their laws And God was with their righteous cause. |
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