V
Then on another wild morning, another wild earthquake out-tore,
Clean from our lines of defense ten or twelve good paces or more.
Rifleman high on the roof, hidden there from the light of the
sun—
One has leapt upon the breach crying out, "Follow me, follow me!"
Mark him-he falls! then another, and down goes he.
Had they been bold enough then, who can tell but the traitors had
won?
Boardings and rafters and doors! an embrasure! make way for the
gun!
Now double-charge it with grape! it is charged and we fire and
they run.
Praise to our Indian brothers, and let the dark face have his
due!
Thanks to the kindly dark faces who fought with us, faithful and
few,
Fought with the bravest among us, and drove them, and smote them
and slew,
That ever upon our topmost roof our banner in India blew.