Cry, Little Artillery Man: A Song by Rickey E. Pittman

Some years ago, I learned the story of Jane Perkins, an Irish girl who moved to America from ireland during the Potato Famine. Air Jordan 5 Uomo Here’s the short version. She and her brother eventually settled in Danville, VA. She became a school teacher, and when the War Between the States erupted, she joined the Danville Artillery unit with her brother. nike air max 90 vt femme She fought with the ferociousness of her Celtic ancestors, was captured and sent to Point Lookout Prison in Maryland. asics buty męskie They discovered she was a woman when she gave birth to a little boy that her fellow soldiers named, Little Artillery Man. Peyton Manning Tennessee Football Jerseys The Federals took the baby from her, and she was taken to the Old Capitol Prison in Washington where she was tortured and abused. Nike Air Jordan 6 Womens Finally released, she walked back to Virginia and rejoined her artillery unit. USC Trojans She vanishes from history and our records after the battle of Petersburg, where it’s assumed she died. Air Jordan 4 Donna

A sad story, but one I felt needed to be told, so I wrote this song performed in Cry, Little Artillery Man from SquarePlanIT, LLC on Vimeo. Huston Street Baseball Jersey

You can read her complete story in a fine book, Lady Rebel:The Story of Private Jane Perkins, by George and Patti Beil. Here are the lyrics of the song that I do in the key of D.

Cry, Little Artillery Man

VERSE 1 Lincoln built a prison He called it Point Lookout To the barren sand of Maryland, He sent soldiers of the South. They fenced us in with water, And unmarked deadlines, 50,000 came here, 14,000 died. Scarpe Nike Store There’s a thousand ways to break a man, And the Yankees know them all, They kept us cold and hungry, And tried to make us crawl. They shot us out of meanness, And starved us out of spite, We buried our dead in the sand, And prayed for them at night. CHORUS I’m here at Point Lookout With all these men in gray, In frostbit feet and ragged clothes, With the South so far away. Abandon hope, ye who enter here, This place that God has cursed, In this cold hell at Chesapeake Bay Lincoln’s devils drive the hearse. asics gel kinsei VERSE 2 On a hot July morning, I heard a baby cry, A crowd of soldiers stood and cheered, A few men wiped their eyes. air max 1 pas cher Kanken Big We called him Little Artillery Man Though there were no cannon there, We named him for his mama, Like us, imprisoned there. Hollister Her name was Jane Perkins, A proud Irish girl She taught school in Virginia Till Rebel flags unfurled, When war came in 61, Her world changed overnight She cut her hair, dressed like a man And signed up for the fight. CHORUS So cry, Little Artillery Man, Wake the men in blue, Let the Yankees hear your voice, Make them hear the truth, Cry, Little Artillery Man, They’ve taken your mama from you, Here at Point Lookout, Babies are prisoners too. VERSE 3 She fought with Lee for three long years, With the Danville Artillery, Till the Yankees took her prisoner, And sent her here with me. When you were born, they took her away, And shackled her in chains. goedkoop air max 2017 In Washington, tortured, abused, She learned there’s many kinds of pain. When the Yankees were through with her, Your mama was set free, She walked back to Virginia, To the Danville Artillery. nike air max They say she died at Petersburg Before the war was done. She fought for the South, and she fought for you, For you, her only son. Air Jordan 5 (V) CHORUS So cry, Little Artillery Man, Wake the men in blue, Let the Yankees hear your voice, Make them hear the truth, Cry, Little Artillery Man, They’ve taken your mama from you, And here at Point Lookout, Babies are prisoners too.