# War Pictures/The Little Drummer

THE LITTLE DRUMMER.
* 'Tis of a little drummer,
* The story I shall tell,
* Of how he marched to battle,
* And all that there befell.
* Out in the West with Lyon
* (For once the name was true).
* For whom the little drummer beat
* His rat-tat-too.
* Our army rose at midnight,
* Ten thousand men as one,
* Each slinging on his knapsack,
* And snatching up his gun:
* "Forward!" and off they started
* As all good soldiers do,
* When the little drummer beats for them
* The rat-tat-too.
* Across a rolling country,
* Where the mist began to rise,
* Past many a blackened farm-house,
* Till the sun was in the skies:
* Then we met the rebel pickets,
* Who skirmished and withdrew,
* While the little drummer beat and beat
* The rat-tat-too.
* Along the wooded hollows
* The line of battle ran.
* Our centre poured a volley,
* And the fight at once began;
* For the rebels answered shouting,
* And a shower of bullets flew;
* But still the little drummer beat
* His rat-tat too.
* ​He stood among his comrades,
* As they quickly formed the line,
* And when they raised their muskets
* He watched the barrels shine!
* When the volley rang, he started,
* For war to him was new:
* But still the little drummer beat
* His rat-tat-too.
* It was a sight to see them,
* That early autumn day,
* Our soldiers in their blue coats,
* And the rebel ranks in gray;
* The smoke that rolled between them
* The balls that whistled through,
* And the little drummer as he beat
* His rat-tat-too.
* His comrades dropped around him—
* By fives and tens they fell,
* Some pierced by minie bullets,
* Some torn by shot and shell;
* They played against our cannon,
* And a caisson's splinters flew;
* But still the little drummer beat
* His rat-tat-too.
* The right, the left, the centre—
* The fight was everywhere:
* They pushed us here,—we wavered—
* We drove and broke them there.
* The gray-backs fixed their bayonets,
* And charged the coats of blue,
* But still the little drummer beat
* His rat-tat-too.
* ​"Where is our little drummer?"
* His nearest comrades say,
* When the dreadful fight is over,
* And the smoke has cleared away.
* As the rebel corps was scattering,
* He urged them to pursue;
* So furiously he beat and beat
* The rat-tat-too!
* He stood no more among them,
* For a bullet, as it sped
* Had glanced and struck his ankle,
* And stretched him with the dead!
* He crawled behind a cannon,
* And pale and paler grew:
* But still the little drummer beat
* His rat-tat-too!
* They bore him to the surgeon,
* A busy man was he:
* "A drummer boy—what ails him?"
* His comrades answered, "See!"
* As they took him from the stretcher,
* 'A heavy breath he drew,
* And his little fingers strove to beat
* The rat-tat-too!
* The ball had spent its fury:
* "A scratch," the surgeon said,
* As he wound the snowy bandage
* Which the lint was staining red!
* "I must leave you now, old fellow."
* "O take me back with you,
* For I know the men are missing me,
* And the rat-tat-too!"
* ​Upon his comrade's shoulder
* They lifted him so grand,
* With his dusty drum before him,
* And his drumsticks in his hand!
* To the fiery front of battle,
* That nearer, nearer drew,—
* And evermore he beat and beat
* His rat-tat-too!
* The wounded as he passed them
* Looked up and gave a cheer:
* And one in dying blessed him,
* Between a smile and tear!
* And the gray-backs—they are flying
* Before the coats of blue,
* For whom the little drummer beats
* His rat-tat-too!
* When the west was red with sunset,
* The last pursuit was o'er,
* Brave Lyon rode the foremost,
* And looked the name he bore!
* And before him on his saddle,
* As a weary child would do,
* Sat the little drummer fast asleep,
* With his rat-tat-too.