He s praying, comrades; tis not strange; The man that s fighting day by day May well, when night comes, take a change, And down upon his knees to pray. Break up that hoecake, boys, and hand The sly and silent jug that s there; I love not it should idly stand When Marion s men have need of cheer. Tis seldom that our luck affords A stuff like this we just have quaffed, And dry potatoes on our boards May always call for such a draft. Now pile the brush and roll the log; Hard pillow, but a soldier s head That s half the time in brake and bog Must never think of softer bed. The owl is hooting to the night, The cooter crawling o er the bank, And in that pond the flashing light Tells where the alligator sank. What! t is the signal 1 start so soon, And through the Santee swamp so deep, Without the aid of friendly moon, And we, Heaven help us! half asleep! But courage, comrades J Marion leads, The Swamp Fox takes us out to-night; So clear your swords and spur your steeds, There s goodly chance, I think, of fight.
