Fiddlers’ Green

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.

Patrick Hackett

HACKETT, Patrick; enlisted: November 9, 1835, Baltimore, by Capt. Hawkins; born: Tipparary [Tipperary], Ireland; age: 22 yrs; occupation: laborer; hazel eyes, sandy hair, light complexion, 5’8”; Company D, 2d Dragoons; died July 20, 1836; mortally wounded July 19, 1836 in battle [Welika Pond, Florida]; rank: [none listed, a private].

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Fiddler’s Green

Halfway down the Trail to HellIn a shady meadow green,Are the Souls of all dead troopers campedNear a good old-time canteen,And this eternal resting placeis known as Fiddlers’ Green. Marching past, straight through to Hell,The Infantry are seen,Accompanied by the Engineers,Artillery and Marine,For none but the shades of CavalrymenDismount at Fiddlers’ Green. Though some go

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