REILLY OF F
(Captain H. J. Reilly, Battery F, Fifth Artillery, “The Fighting Fifth,” U. S. A., killed on the walls of Pekin, in the relief of the legations, during the Boxer uprising.)
By John Jerome Rooney.
I.
Know you the story, friends, know you the story?
No hero is mine of the plume and the lance—
Yet worthy to claim the green bay of glory
In the lay of the singer of oldest romance.
Then, when the song of the minstrel is gone,
Forget not how Reilly—brave Reilly went on!
II.
Out from the East, like a bolt from the sky,
Thrilled the wild rumor of danger and dread—
Out from the East flamed a prayer and a cry—
A cry of the living, a cry of the dead—
Straight to the heart of the nations it came,
And the nations were shaken, as wind shakes a flame!
III.
There, ‘mid the millions of Mongols, they stood—
One grain in the desert, a drop in the sea—
Mothers and children—brave men of our blood—
What is their fate? Say, what shall it be?
How can we name the thing that we fear?
The heart, at the thought, is palsied and seer!
IV.
Onward! the cry of the East and the West—
Onward! spoke Chaffee, Columbia’s son:
The nations were calling their bravest and best
For the work of a giant before them undone.
No time now to palter with quavering breath—
’Twas action and rescue—’twas rescue or death!
V.
And the word came to Reilly—it spoke not again—
Brave Reilly with all his bold lads of the guns—
(Ah, if any came out from El Caney’s red rain,
’Twas by the grace of the Lord—not Hispania’s sons!)
Oh, a stancher band never turned face to the foe
As onward with Reilly, straight onward they go!
VI.
They battered the walls of the forts of Taku,
They lifted the door-knock and pounded it well—
And the door?—the door was a breach looking thro’
An entrance well dusted by shrapnel and shell.
The fort, like a mist of the morning, was gone,
And Reilly went on—bold Reilly went on!
VII.
On by the railroad—still onward they press’d—
Thro’ rampart—thro’ swamp, like a sword of the Lord—
True sons of the East, true sons of the West,
A knight of King Arthur confronting a horde!
And Battery F, unafraid of the brunt,
Kept its pace, and its guns, right up to the front!
VIII.
See! See! the walls of the Capital rise
Away to the right, a vision of power—
They are flashing a signal—our loved one’s replies—
They are lost had the guns been delayed but an hour.
Like a cyclone they open and thunder their doom
And the flame from their mouths is the light in our gloom!
IX.
Battery F opened up like a hell,
With a roar like a lion—a serpent’s fierce hiss—
Solid shot under! above with the shell!
Gates were not made to be pounded like this.
Trembles the portal—with a shot it is gone—
And Reilly went on—bold Reilly went on!
X.
From the compound a cheer, like a voice from the grave,
Rolls upward and out and upward again;
The Lord—He is gracious and mighty to save,
And he works by the hands of His valiant of men!
Still, was work to be done—stern work to be done—
Ere the wall’d town within was level’d and won.
XI.
Then “Forward,” called Reilly—and forward they swept
To the walls where the foe had rallied his horde.
Like a boy, to a ladder the Captain has leapt,
You can see, far in front, the gleam of his sword.
Then up thro’ the smoke, like a wraith, he has gone—
And Reilly went on—bold Reilly went on!
XII.
O sweet harp of Erin, sound gently thy lay!
O star of Colombia, be swift with thy light!
He fell—and the summit of Glory that day
Was the rampart he scaled alone in the fight.
In a beam of the splendor a moment he shone—
And Reilly went on—brave Reilly went on!
EDWARD CARROLL.
Leavenworth, Kansas.
A Member of the Society.
The above is a true story, every word of it. The United States Government brought Captain Reilly’s body home and buried it in the Arlington Cemetery, near Washington, and erected a splendid shaft to mark this brave soldier’s memory. Captain Reilly, as his name indicates, was of Irish stock.—J. J. R.