  What! take Gret Gran'f'ther's musket, Thet he kerried at Bunker Hill, An' go a-gunnin' fer sparrers With Solomon Judd an' Bill? You let thet musket alone, Dan'l! An' git down from thet air stool. You've just time enough to hold this yarn Afore ye go off to school. Thar! don't ye wriggle an' twist, sonny! The yarn's fer yer own new socks; It's safer to hold than muskets, With their triggers an' riggers an' locks. A musket to shoot at sparrers! Wal, boys is up to sech tricks! An' thet old un, too, thet ain't ben tetched Sence seventeen seventy-six! But I set more store by its rusty stock, Than the finest money could buy; An' if you'll stan' stiddy, Dan'l, I'll tell ye the reason why. You never seed Gret Gran'f'ther, But you've seed his pictur, boy, With the smilin' mouth, an' the big brown eyes Jes' brimmin' with life and joy. Wal! he war'n't like thet when I seed him, But his sperrit was lively still, Fer all his white hair an' empty sleeve, As it was at Bunker Hill. An' many's the time he's told me, Settin' here in this very cheer, Of the fust time he shouldered thet musket, In the Continental year. How out in the field a-mowin', He seed the bay'nets glance, An' ran fer his gun with a lighter heart Than ever he went to a dance. Jest as he was,—in his shirt-sleeves (Fer the day was warm and bright), An' no hat,—but shoulderin' his musket, An' thar upon Bunker hillside, Whar the smoke hung thick an' gray, He went a-gunnin' fer redcoats, As you'd go fer sparrers to-day. Hey! but the balls were whistlin'! An' the flashes kem thick an' fast; But whose-ever musket hed fust word, Gret Gran'f'ther's hed the last. Then a gunner was shot beside him, Thet handled a six-pound gun, An' they called fer a man to tend her; An' Gran'f'ther said he was one. "I ain't never fired a gun," said he, "But I'll do my prideful best; An' ef all you want is a man, Colonel, Mebbe I'm as good as the rest." An' I reckon he was! fer he stood thar, An' fired thet six-pound gun, Till every redcoat within his range Hed either dropped or run. Then all of a suddent thar kem a crack, A flash an' a twinge an' a thrill, An' Gran'f'ther's right arm dropped by his side, An' hung thar, limp an' still. Jest fer a moment, I've heard him say, The hull world seemed to reel; An' a hummin' sound went through his ears, Like Gran'm'ther's spinnin'-wheel. But he hedn't no time for faintin', Nor he hedn't no time for pain; "It's well I'm left-handed!" says Gran'f'ther, An' he fired the gun again. Bimeby, when the Colonel found him, Arter the fight was done, He was lyin', all black like a nigger, An' senseless, along by his gun. Then the boys made a kind o' stretcher, An' jest as they laid him a-top, "The balls was all gone," he says, "Colonel, So I was obleeged to stop." Yes! thet was the way Gret Gran'f'ther fit, An' the way he lost his arm; But he shot with his left till the land was free, An' then he kem back to the farm. An' he laid his musket acrost them hooks, An' thar it's laid to this day; An' spite o' you an' the sparrers, Dan'l, Thar's whar it's a-goin' to stay. The school-bell! run now, sonny boy! An' thank ye fer standin' still. What's thet? Ay! Hurrah fer Gret Gran'f'ther! An' hurrah fer Bunker Hill! |
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