THE BRASS-MOUNTED ARMY

             by -----, of Col. A. Buchel's Regiment.

                   Air — Southern Wagon.

O Soldiers! I've concluded to make a little song,
And if I tell no falsehood there can be nothing wrong;
If any be offended at what I have to sing,
Then surely his own conscience applies the bitter sting.

O how dy'e ye like the army, the Brass-mounted Army,
This highfaluting army, where eagle buttons rule?

Of late I've been thinking of this great Army-school,
With iron regulations, and rather rigid rule;
But chosen words and phrases I need not further speak,
The facts as soldiers know them a stronger language speak.

Whisky is a monster, and ruins great and small,
But in our noble Army Head-quarters get it all;
They drink it when there's danger, altho' it seems too hard,
But if a Private touches it they put him under guard.

And then when we are marching we've "Orders No. B4lank,"
Which makes the private soldiers forever keep in rank;
Altho' it's rather cooling, as soldiers often say,
It is a "General Order," which soldiers must obey.

And when we meet the ladies we're bound to go it sly—
Head-quarters are the pudding, and the Privates are the pie!
They issue Standing Orders to keep us all in line,
For if we had a showing the brass would fail to shine.

At every big plantation, or negro-holder's yard,
Just to eave the property the General puts a guard;
The sentry's then instructed to let no Private pass—
The rich man's house and table are fix'd to suit the brass."

I have to change this story, so beautiful and true,
But the poor man and widow must have a line or two;
For them no guard is station'd, their fences oft are burned,
And property molested, as long ago you've learned.

The Army's now much richer than when the war begun,
It furnishes three tables where once it had but one;
The first is richly loaded with chickens, goose and duck,
The rest with pork and mutton, the third with good old Buck.

Our Generals eat the poultry, and buy it very cheap,
Our Colonels and our Majors devour the hog and sheep;
The Privates are contented (except when they can steal,)
With beef and corn bread plenty to make a hearty meal.

Sometimes we get so hungry that we've bound to press a pig,
Then the largest stump in Dixie we're sure to have to dig;
And when we fret an officer who wears long-legged boots,
With neither judge nor jury we're put on "double roots."

These things, and many others, are truly hard to me,
But still I'll be contented, and fight for Liberty!
And when the war is over, O what a jolly time!
We'll be our own Commanders, and sing much sweeter rhymes.

We'll see our loving sweethearts, and sometimes kiss them too,
We'll eat the finest rations, and bid old Buck adieu;
There'll be no Generals with orders to compel,
Long boots and eagle buttons, for ever fare ye well!

And thus we'll leave the army, the Brass-mounted Army,
This highfaluting army where eagle buttons rule.



(Col. A. Buchel, commander of the 1st Texas Cavalry Regiment, was fatally wounded at Pleasant Hill, Louisiana, Sept. 9, 1864.)