A Troopers Friend (In memory of Whisky) My friend and I rode off to war, When country and duty called; We fought four long and bitter years. By glory un-enthralled. I loved him dearer than a brother, More than tongue can tell; And though he never spoke a word. He loved me just as well. Though we both were often hungry, If there was grain, it went to him; I knew I would get by on salt pork, And on mouldy hardtack grim. A bursting shell at Chickamauga, Took one of his ears away. But he stood outside the surgeons tent, As they cut lead from me that day. He saved my life at Brices Crossroads, And took a bullet meant for me; A sabre slashed across his neck, When we charged some battery. And now here in Alabama, The end is drawing near. Dark smoke and bloody hoof prints, Across the land and cause so dear. My friend did not arise this morning, And though he tried to lift his head. I saw within his silent eyes, There were lonely roads ahead. The captain rode up beside us, And said Ben we must retire. His next order died unspoken. He knew the shot Id never fire. I knelt beside my friend and stroked his mane, As the column rode away; And kept the flies at bay. I gave him water from my canteen, He struggled once more to gain his feet, And he seemed to say, We tried!, I could not see him for my tears. And I held him as he died. With only cup and sabre, I mounded him with clay. For such a true and faithful friend, I could not leave for vulture prey Hes galloped beyond wars flame and fury, Past the battle smoke and din, If there are horses up in Heaven. May we ride together again. Sgt. Benjamin R. Gormley, Georgia Division Cavalry, March 21st, 1990
Posted on: Tue, 01 Apr 2014 15:33:49 +0000
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