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Battle of Alma (Heights of Alma 2) 
Battle of Alma (Heights of Alma 2) 
On September last the eighteenth day We landed safe at big Crimea, In spite of all the splashing spray To cheer our hearts for Alma. 
cho: Then Britain's sons may long remember The glorious twentieth of September, We caused the Russians to surrender Up on the heights of Alma. 
That night we lay on the cold ground, No tent nor sbelter to be found, And with the rain was almost drowned Upon the heights of Alma. 
Next morning a scorching sun did rise Beneath the eastern cloudy skies, Our noble chief Lord Raglan cries, "Prepare to march for Alma." 
Oh, when the heights we hove in view The stoutest heart it could subdue To see tue Russian warlike crew Upon the heights of Alma. 
Their city was well fortified With batteries on every side, Our noble chief Lord Raglan cried, " We'll get hot work at Alma." 
Their shot it flew like winter rain When we their batteries strove to gain, Fifteen hundred Frenchmen lie slain In the bloody gore at Alma. 
Our Scottish lads with sword in hose Were not the last you may suppose, But daring faced their daring foes And gained the heights of Alma. 
To Sebastopol the Russians fled, 
They left their wounded and the dead, The rivers there that they run red From the blood was spilled at Alma. 
There was fifteen hundred Frenchman I heard say Had fell upon that fatal day, And eighteen hundred Russians lay In the bloody gore at Alma. 
Now France and England hand in hand, What ne'er a foe could them withstand! So let it run throughout the land, The victory won at Alma. 
From Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, Creighton oct96