“Jayhawker Hill” a poem by Rickey Pittman, Bard of the South

On the West Bank of the Ouachita,
Somewhere in Caldwell Parish,
Jayhawker Hill’s is in piney woods,
Where many a man did perish.

You better stay away
From Jayhawker hill,
Something evil sleeps there,
And haunts those woods still.

Some Jayhawkers are buried there,
Those hanged or shot down,
Their ghosts whisper of buried gold
Wealth that’s never been found.

A hundred men or more,
lived there beyond the pale,
Fierce, violent, bloody men,
Who followed the hoot-owl trail.

Draft dodgers and deserters,
Free men and former slaves,
Outlaws in a no man’s land,
Mercy they seldom gave.

Yes, I’m a jayhawker,
I’ve killed many a man,
Stolen horses, guns, and gold,
Every chance I can.

I’ve killed men when they resist,
Women and children too,
Remember that if I come your way,
So bad don’t happen to you.

I’ll hide from the Rebs,
If they try to root me out,
I’ll simply vanish in the swamp,
My favorite hideout.

I don’t play no favorites
So I torment  Yankees too,
I steal their horses and rob patrols,
And sometimes I’m dressed in blue.

Jayhawkers are men of few words,
But we know what to do,
After raiding farms or travelers,
We vanish by horse or canoe.

You better stay away
From Jayhawker hill,
Something evil sleeps there,
And haunts those woods still.

R. Pittman–Jan. 2023