halfway down the trail to hell, in a shady meadow green are the souls of all dead troopers camped, near a good old - time canteen. and this eternal resting place is known as fiddlers ’ green. marching past, straight through to hell the infantry are seen. accompanied by the engineers, artillery and marines, for none but the shades of cavalrymen dismount at fiddlers ’ green. though some go curving down the trail to seek a warmer scene. no trooper ever gets to hell ere he ’ s emptied his canteen. and so rides back to drink again with friends at fiddlers ’ green. and so when man and horse go down beneath a saber keen, or in a roaring charge of fierce melee you stop a bullet clean, and the hostiles come to get your scalp, just empty your canteen, and put your pistol to your head and go to fiddlers ’ green.