m the fearless giant Colonel,
To appear in his dominions.
John A. Flack, the warlike Captain
Of the brave and youthful Guardsmen,
Was not then within the city,
Was not then at post of duty;
And his men were in disorder,
Were all scattered in confusion.
But they soon began to rally,
On one fair October evening,
Rally 'round their platoon leaders,
Ready to accept the challenge.
Of their number was a stranger,
An adopted son of Garrard,
Who was light and lithe of person,
Who was full of life and vigor,
Who had visited the city,
The good city of Lancaster;
Who had joined her sports and pastimes,
Eager for the hour's amusement,
Ever foremost in adventure;
And the stranger's name was Dunlap,
And his home was in Lafayette.
He was one of twenty-seven,
Who advanced on the Militia,
At the silent hour of midnight;
Who attacked the Regimentals,
Near the bridge across Dix River,
In the county we call Lincoln;
Who invaded the dominions
Of the annual encampment,
On the fair October evening,
Eighteen hundred eight and thirty.
Sweetly rest the noble Cornstalks,
On their arms are calmly sleeping,
Resting on their arms by moonlight,
Resting, ignorant of danger.
Bright the ever-shifting heavens,
Dark the trees and woodland shadows,
'Round the band of Regimentals,
Near the river-bridge of Lincoln.
Gently came the night besiegers,
Softly marched the twenty-seven,
When a sharp, out-standing picket
Sounded forth the note of warning,
With his damp and rusty weapon,
Blazoned forth the call of danger,
With the snapping of his musket.
Quick the camp is in commotion.
"To arms!" "To arms!" shout the Militia,
The surprised and sleepy Cornstalks.
And the men run hither, thither
In a search for the assailants,
When a noise of tramping horses,
Through the river-bridge, attracts them.
'Twas a feint arranged beforehand,
To delude the Regimentals,
And they dashed on to the outskirts,
Dashed the wild, bewildered Cornstalks,
In a wayward false direction.
The young Guards meanwhile crept onward,
Softly crept to camp behind them:
Four platoons of jolly Guardsmen,
March and counter-march upon them,
Fire blank cartridges among them,
Lighting up the woods around them;
Thrust the bayonets dull before them,
March and counter-march in order,
Fire and load again the flintlocks,
Till the woodland fair