The World Turned Upside Down

They came marching sullen from Yorktown to the open field of surrender—the British in their crimson tunics, the Germans in their blue—angry, some weeping. By the rank, they laid down their weapons; some broke their muskets while others smashed their cartridge boxes. Drummer boys set their drums in October grass and kicked in the drumheads. None could accept the harsh truth that the ragtag American rebels had somehow beaten them.

They turned away from the growing stacks of surrendered arms to march back, tears streaming, while their marching band repeated the strains of a familiar, old English folk song, “The World Turned Upside Down.”

If ponies rode men, and if grass ate the cows,

And cats should be chased into holes by the mouse,

If summer were spring, and the other way ’round,

Then all the world would be turned upside down.