Of all the wildest scamps that e'er provoked a sergeant's eye,
They were first in every wickedness, but one thing could not lie,
And they longed to face the music, when the tidings from afar
Brought the news of wild disaster in a wild and savage war.
Said the Colonel, 'How can babies of battle bear the brunt?'
Said the little orphan rascals, 'please Sir, take us to the front!
And we'll play to the men in the far-off land,
When their eyes for home are dim;
If the Indians come, they shall hear our drum
In the van where the fight is grim.
Our lads we know, to the death will go,
If they're led by Jake and Jim.'

"In the battle, 'mid the rattle, and the deadly hail of lead,
The two were in their glory--What did they know of dread?
And fierce the heathen cry arose across the Indian plain,
And 'twas Home, for the bravest there would never be again,
The raw recruits were restless, and they counted not the cost,
And the Colonel shouted, 'Steady lads, stand fast, or else we're lost.'
A rush! 'twas like an avalanche! a clash of steel and red!
A shock like mountain thunder, then the reg'ment turned and fled.
'Give me the drum, take the fife,' said Jake,
'And with all your might and main,
Play the old step now, for the reg'ment's sake
As they scatter along the plain.
We'll play them up to the front once more,
Tho' we never come back again.'

"Then might the world have seen two little dots in red,
Facing the foe, when the rest had turned and fled!