BALLAD OF YE LEEK HOOK
OR, THE POTTER COUNTY VOLUNTEER
It is probably known to all well informed people that, in the early days of Potter County, Pa., the food of the inhabitants consisted mainly of trout, venison, and leeks. For convenience in digging leeks, a long spur, something like an old-fashioned bayonet, was (or might have been) worn on the heel.
A BOLD young raftsman dwelt among the Potter County pines.
He had no shade trees round his hut, nor any flowers, nor vines,
But yet he had a gallant heart, and when the war began
He swore that he could whip Old Jeff—or any other man.
And he has sold his brindle cow, likewise his yaller dog,
And left his double bitted ax a stickin’ in the log;
Has donned his brightest scarlet shirt. “And now,” says he, I shall
Jest take a walk to Lungerville, and have a talk with Sal.”
When gentle Sally saw him come, she dropped her gathered leeks,
Her waterfall came tumbling down—the roses left her cheeks;
“Oh John,” she cried, “you’re all drest up, an’ I know what it’s for,
You’re ’listed for a volunteer—you’re goin’ up to war!”
“Oh Sally, dry your lovely eyes, an’ do not be afraid,
But bear thee gallantly, as should a Potter County maid;
And give to me some trifling thing—a token, ere I go,
That I may wear it as a badge in presence of the foe.”
Then stooped the lovely blushing maid, and from her tiny heel
Unstrapped a wondrous instrument, a shining spur of steel;
And “Wear thou this,” the damsel said; “for it shall be thy shield,
The talisman against all harm upon the battle field.”
Oh many a field in Dixie’s Land and many a Southland stream
Have seen that fearless volunteer—that leek hook’s awful gleam.
And soon the Johnnies learned to say, “There comes the cussed Yank,
Who wears a bayonet on his heel, and strikes us in the flank.”
At Malvern Hill, at Gettysburg, and at the Seven Pines,
That fearful leek hook flashed like fire along the rebel lines.
“Because,” said John, “I hold it true, that any man of nerve
Can kill more Rebs to go it on his individual curve.”
And so for three long years he fought, o’er many a weary mile,
Killing six general officers, with scores of rank and file,
For wheresoe’er that leek hook flashed, by river, hill or plain,
Twas there the fiercest fighting was—the biggest heaps of slain!
All honor to the shining blade that digs the fragrant root,
Yet makes a fearful weapon on a Potter County foot.
All honor to our soldiers who the rebel cause have smashed—
And let us pray that John and Sal may run together—lashed.