Chapter 6

The Gallant Fifty-First.Then came the memorable order from Burnside, which must have thrilled every member of the regiment: “Tell Sturgis to send the Fifty-first Pennsylvania to take the bridge.”Along the valley’s narrow gorgeThe morning mist outspread,While rifle-pit and breast-work strongFrowned grimly overhead.The sluggish stream that only servedTo slake the thirst of kine,Was soon to see a drearier sightWith men drawn up in line.Along the crest a flash of fireBreaks red against the sky,Along the hillside’s narrow slopeComes back the quick reply.Ferraro dashes up in haste,His countenance aflame,“The Fifty-first must storm the bridge,”’Twas thus the order came.“Fix bayonets!” over Hartranft’s faceA strange smile sent its beam;The red blood flushed, his dusky cheek—His dark eyes all agleam.Sturgis and Cook in vain essayed,And others yet may try,But now the gallant Fifty-firstMust storm the bridge or die.Bright flashed the sword their leader drew—“Charge!” Like a simoon’s blast,The Fifty-first, mid shot and shell,Dashed on—the bridge is passed;The beaten foe in wild retreatIs flying o’er the bridge,Huzza! huzza! The Fifty-firstHas stormed Antietam’s bridge!Oh, men of Pennsylvania,Along your bloody routeLies many a comrade, dull of ear,Who may not have heard you shout;But o’er your country’s wide domainA pæan grand shall burst;A nation’s accolade be thine—O gallant Fifty-first!

Then came the memorable order from Burnside, which must have thrilled every member of the regiment: “Tell Sturgis to send the Fifty-first Pennsylvania to take the bridge.”

Along the valley’s narrow gorgeThe morning mist outspread,While rifle-pit and breast-work strongFrowned grimly overhead.The sluggish stream that only servedTo slake the thirst of kine,Was soon to see a drearier sightWith men drawn up in line.Along the crest a flash of fireBreaks red against the sky,Along the hillside’s narrow slopeComes back the quick reply.Ferraro dashes up in haste,His countenance aflame,“The Fifty-first must storm the bridge,”’Twas thus the order came.“Fix bayonets!” over Hartranft’s faceA strange smile sent its beam;The red blood flushed, his dusky cheek—His dark eyes all agleam.Sturgis and Cook in vain essayed,And others yet may try,But now the gallant Fifty-firstMust storm the bridge or die.Bright flashed the sword their leader drew—“Charge!” Like a simoon’s blast,The Fifty-first, mid shot and shell,Dashed on—the bridge is passed;The beaten foe in wild retreatIs flying o’er the bridge,Huzza! huzza! The Fifty-firstHas stormed Antietam’s bridge!Oh, men of Pennsylvania,Along your bloody routeLies many a comrade, dull of ear,Who may not have heard you shout;But o’er your country’s wide domainA pæan grand shall burst;A nation’s accolade be thine—O gallant Fifty-first!

Along the valley’s narrow gorgeThe morning mist outspread,While rifle-pit and breast-work strongFrowned grimly overhead.The sluggish stream that only servedTo slake the thirst of kine,Was soon to see a drearier sightWith men drawn up in line.Along the crest a flash of fireBreaks red against the sky,Along the hillside’s narrow slopeComes back the quick reply.Ferraro dashes up in haste,His countenance aflame,“The Fifty-first must storm the bridge,”’Twas thus the order came.“Fix bayonets!” over Hartranft’s faceA strange smile sent its beam;The red blood flushed, his dusky cheek—His dark eyes all agleam.Sturgis and Cook in vain essayed,And others yet may try,But now the gallant Fifty-firstMust storm the bridge or die.Bright flashed the sword their leader drew—“Charge!” Like a simoon’s blast,The Fifty-first, mid shot and shell,Dashed on—the bridge is passed;The beaten foe in wild retreatIs flying o’er the bridge,Huzza! huzza! The Fifty-firstHas stormed Antietam’s bridge!Oh, men of Pennsylvania,Along your bloody routeLies many a comrade, dull of ear,Who may not have heard you shout;But o’er your country’s wide domainA pæan grand shall burst;A nation’s accolade be thine—O gallant Fifty-first!

Along the valley’s narrow gorge

The morning mist outspread,

While rifle-pit and breast-work strong

Frowned grimly overhead.

The sluggish stream that only served

To slake the thirst of kine,

Was soon to see a drearier sight

With men drawn up in line.

Along the crest a flash of fireBreaks red against the sky,Along the hillside’s narrow slopeComes back the quick reply.Ferraro dashes up in haste,His countenance aflame,“The Fifty-first must storm the bridge,”’Twas thus the order came.

Along the crest a flash of fire

Breaks red against the sky,

Along the hillside’s narrow slope

Comes back the quick reply.

Ferraro dashes up in haste,

His countenance aflame,

“The Fifty-first must storm the bridge,”

’Twas thus the order came.

“Fix bayonets!” over Hartranft’s faceA strange smile sent its beam;The red blood flushed, his dusky cheek—His dark eyes all agleam.Sturgis and Cook in vain essayed,And others yet may try,But now the gallant Fifty-firstMust storm the bridge or die.

“Fix bayonets!” over Hartranft’s face

A strange smile sent its beam;

The red blood flushed, his dusky cheek—

His dark eyes all agleam.

Sturgis and Cook in vain essayed,

And others yet may try,

But now the gallant Fifty-first

Must storm the bridge or die.

Bright flashed the sword their leader drew—“Charge!” Like a simoon’s blast,The Fifty-first, mid shot and shell,Dashed on—the bridge is passed;The beaten foe in wild retreatIs flying o’er the bridge,Huzza! huzza! The Fifty-firstHas stormed Antietam’s bridge!

Bright flashed the sword their leader drew—

“Charge!” Like a simoon’s blast,

The Fifty-first, mid shot and shell,

Dashed on—the bridge is passed;

The beaten foe in wild retreat

Is flying o’er the bridge,

Huzza! huzza! The Fifty-first

Has stormed Antietam’s bridge!

Oh, men of Pennsylvania,Along your bloody routeLies many a comrade, dull of ear,Who may not have heard you shout;But o’er your country’s wide domainA pæan grand shall burst;A nation’s accolade be thine—O gallant Fifty-first!

Oh, men of Pennsylvania,

Along your bloody route

Lies many a comrade, dull of ear,

Who may not have heard you shout;

But o’er your country’s wide domain

A pæan grand shall burst;

A nation’s accolade be thine—

O gallant Fifty-first!

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