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Breitmann in Turkey

by Charles G. Leland

Derr Breitmann hear im Turkenreich

Vas fighten high und low,

'Steh auf, oh Schwackenhammer mein!

It's dime for us to go.

Zieh dein Kanonenstiefel an,

Und schleife Dir das Schwert,

Schon lang her han mer nichts gethan,

Der Weg ist reitenswerth.'

'Oopon vitch side? I hartly know

Boot von side in dis war:

Dere ist de holy Russ-land

All mit a holy Tsar;

But I pe not a holy-er,

Nor you von Saint, I fear;

Out line is holy ploonder,

Mit sacred Lager-bier.

'Dere's von Constantinoble-man

Vot write to me, und say

He kits me an commission

To make me Breitmann Bey,

Und if I mounts de turpan

Und keeps de Muslin law,

Und bribes ein wenig, den I rise

To Breitemann Pasha.

'Dis much is drue, dat Toorkey is

A real Powder land,

Und if dey're goin' to touch it off,

Vy, ve moost pe on hand.

Und if ve shpring into de airs

Vhile meddlin' in de fuss,

I rader dink some Russian bears

Vill shpring along mit us.'

Und ven he kit to Turkreich

Der Breitmann work like mad,

Und kit ein corps togeder,

Mein Gott! vat men he had!

Mit Polers und mit Shipsies,

Ungaren, Turks, und such,

Und allerlei Gesindel. 'Hei!'

Says Hans: 'dis beats de Dutch!'

Den onwards to his Schicksal

Und forvarts troo de night,

Und oopwarts to his mission,

Und downvarts in de vight.

Until in de Bulg'ren

Von night his horse he strode,

Und meet a tausand Kossacks

Pefore him on de road.

Slap forward rode der Breitmann

Right on de Kossack spears,

But forvarts coom deir leader

And halted his careers,

Und gry, 'O Turkisch Ritter,

I am de Capit?n,

And if you want a shindy,

Step up, and I'm your man.'

Dey fightet like der teufel,

Dey fightet mit deir swords,

Und Breitmann vould hafe kilt him,

But 'twas not on de cards,

For de Kossack fire a bistol

As his retreadt pegan,

Down from his horse all senseless

Flop! went der Breitemann.

Vhen he hafe kit his senses,

Der Breitmann find he lay

Insite a nople castell,

Upon a canap';

Und py his side a lady

So wundersch'n to see,

Vas shlisin oop a lemon

Indo a cop of th'e.

Den to himself say Breitmann,

Aldough he hold his jaw,

'Dis is de vinest womans,

Py Gott! I efer saw.

Vot lofeliness! vot muscle!

Mit efery himmlisch charm!

She measures twenty inches,

Bei Donner! roundt de arm.'

De lady see his glances

So noble und so game,

Und yust as he reflected

She dink of him de same,

Und she say, 'Wie gehts?' in English,

'Du galiant cavalier,

Who art pecome de captive

All of my bow und spear.

'I am a gal dis mornin',

Yestreen I vas a knight,

Old hoss you nearly smashedme,

I guess, in that small fight;

And if I hadn't shot you

I think I should have ran.'

'Gottshimmel mit Potzbomben!

Egsclaim der Breitemann.

'But say, O nople lady,

Vot got you in dot set

Of plackgards vilt dou dell me?'

De dame rebly: 'You bet!

My father came from Boston,

And when this war began

He got a splendid contract,

All with the Russi-'n,

'To sell the army shoe-strings;

But I have read of fights,

And I dream of war and glory,

For I go for women's rights;

Then I read a book of poems

Which fairly turned my head,

The ballads of Hans Breitmann'

'Oh ho!' Hans Breitmann said.

'And as I think the Breitmann

Must be the greatest man

Who ever went a-fighting

Since History began,

I dressed me like a soldier,

For I am stark of limb;

With Breitmann for a model,

And try to act like him.

'Oh, tell me, noble captive,

While rolling in this storm

Which men call life, hast ever

Beheld Hans Breitmann's form?

Oh, could I once embrace him,

And gaze into his eye,

And feel his arms around me,

Then I would gladly die.

'He is the man of mortals,

The Odin of them all,

A higher Incarnation,

The 'Menschheitsid'al,'

A being made to worship,

To me an earthly Gott'

'Py shings!' exglaim Hans Breitmann,

'Dis ding is gettin hot!

'O laity! nople gountess!

Dis man of whom you dink

Ish lyin' here pefore you,

Half tead for want of trink,

Likewise for lofe of you, too,

Done up mit lofe and durst,

Und mit de two togeder,

I don't know vitch is vorst.

'And dou canst safe dy hero

From bitter Todespein,

If dou hast in de Keller

Only one Fass of wein.

Nay, doubt not in my pocket

Is dot vitch brofes de man,

My bassport, und drei tavern bills

Against der Breitemann.'

De laity she emprace him

Oontil he nearly bust.

'Potz-blitz!' gasp out der Breitmann,

'She is a squeezer yust!'

De dam' she vas vealty,

Likewise an orphan too,

Mit a castel und a titel,

So Breitmann put it troo.

So soon the paar vere marrit,

Hei! vot a dimes dey had!

Hei! how dey life togeder

So clorious und clad!

Now he has cot a titel

Dot was a Capit'n;

Hier hat de tale ein Ende

Of Herr Count Breitemann.