"'I ask no mercy at your hands;
I shall not whimper, but my comrade here
Is ill of fever; I have stood his watch:
Sir, if a human heart beats in your breast,
Send him to camp, or he will surely die.'
"The pompous brute—vaingloriously great
In straps and buttons—haughtily silenced Paul,
Hand-bound and sent him guarded to the camp,
And the poor comrade shivering stood the watch
Till dawn of day and I was made aware.
Among the true were some vainglorious fools
Called by the fife and drum from native mire
To lord and strut in shoulder-straps and buttons.
Scrubs, born to brush the boots of gentlemen,
By sudden freak of fortune found themselves
Masters of better men, and lorded it
As only base and brutish natures can—
Braves on parade and cowards under fire.
"I interceded in my Paul's behalf,
Else he had suffered graver punishment,
But as himself for mercy would not beg—
'A stubborn boy,' our bluff old colonel said—
To extra duty for a month he went
Unmurmuring, storm or shine. When the cold rain
Poured down most pitiless Paul, drenched and wan,
Guarded the baggage and the braying mules.
When the hot sun at mid-day blazed and burned,
Like the red flame on Mauna Loa's top,
Withering the grass and parching earth and air,
I often saw him knapsacked and full-dressed,
Drilling the raw recruits at double-quick;
And yet he wore a patient countenance,
And went about his duty earnestly
As if it were a pleasure to obey.
"The month wore off and mad disaster came—
Gorging the blood of heroes at Ball's Bluff.
'Twas there the brave, unfaltering Baker fell
Fighting despair between the jaws of death.
Quenched was the flame that fired a thousand hearts;
Hushed was the voice that shook the senate-walls,
And rang defiance like a bugle-blast.
Broad o'er the rugged mountains to the north
Fell the incessant rain till, like a sea,
Him and the deadly ambush of the foe
The swollen river rolled and roared between.
Brave Baker saw the peril, but not his
The soul to shrink or falter, though he saw
His death-warrant in his orders. Forth he led
His proud brigade across the roaring chasm,
Firm and unfaltering into the chasm of death.
From morn till mid-day in a single boat
Unfit, by companies, the fearless band
Passed over the raging river; then advanced
Upon the ambushed foe. We heard the roll
Of volleys in the forest, and uprose,
From out the wood, a cloud of battle-smoke.
Then came the yell of foemen charging down
Rank upon rank and furious. Hand to hand,
The little band of heroes, flanked and pressed,
Fought thrice their numbers; fearless Baker led
In prodigies of valor; front and flank
Volleyed the deadly rifles; in the rear
The rapid, raging river rolled and roared.
Along the Maryland shore a mile below,
Eager to cross and reinforce our friends,
Ten thousand soldiers lay upon their arms;
And we had boats to spare. In all our ranks
There was not one who did not comprehend
The peril and the instant need of aid.
Chafing we waited orders. We could see
That Baker's men were fighting in retreat;
For ever nearer o'er the forest rolled
The smoke of battle. Orders came at last,
And up along the shore our regiment ran,
Eager to aid our comrades, but too late!
Baker had fallen in the battle-front;
He fought like Spartan and like Spartan fell
Defiant, clutching at the throat of fate.
Their leader lost, confusion followed fast;
Wild panic and red slaughter swept the field.
Powerless to saves we saw the farther shore
Covered with wounded and wild fugitives—
Our own defeated and defenseless friends.
Shattered and piled with wounded men the boat
Pushed off to brave the river, while the foe
Pressed on the charge with fury, and refused
Mercy to the vanquished. Officers and men,
Cheating the savage foemen of their spoils,
Their flags and arms into the gurgling depths
Despairing hurled, and following plunged amain.
As numerous as the wild aquatic flocks
That float in autumn on Lake Nepigon,
The heads of swimmers moved upon the flood.
And still upon the shore a Spartan few—
Shoulder to shoulder—back to back, as one—
Amid the din and clang of clashing steel,
Surrounded held the swarming foes at bay.
As in the pre-historic centuries—
Unnumbered ages ere the Pyramids—
Whereof we read on pre-diluvian bones
And fretted flints in excavated caves,
When savage men abode in rocky dens,
And wrought their weapons from the fiery flint,
And clothed their tawny thighs in lion-skins—
Before the mouth of some well-guarded cave,
Where smoked the savory flesh of mammoth, came
The great cave-bear unbidden to the feast.
Around the monster swarm the brawny men,
Wielding with sinewy arms and savage cries
Their flinty spears and tomahawks of stone.
Erect old bruin growls upon his foes,
And swings with mighty power his ponderous paws—
Woe unto him who feels the crushing blow—
Till, bleeding from an hundred wounds and blind,
With sudden plunge he falls at last, and dies
Amid the shouts of his wild enemies.
So fought the Spartan few, till one by one,
They fell surrounded by a wall of foes.
The river boiled beneath the storm of lead;
Weighed down with wounded comrades many sunk,
But more went down with bullets in their heads.
O! it was pitiful. The outstretched hands
Of men that erst had faced the battle-storm
Unshaken, grasping now in wild despair,
Wrung cries of pity from us. Vain our fire—
The range too long—it fell upon our friends;
At which the foemen yelled their mad delight.
A storm of bullets poured upon the boat,
Mangling the mangled on her, till at last,
Shattered and over-laden, suddenly
She made a lurch to leeward and went down.
"A shallow boat lay moored upon the shore;
Our gallant Colonel called for volunteers
In mercy's name to man it and push out.
But all could see the peril. Stout the heart
Would dare to face the raging flood and fire,
And to his call responded not a man—
Save Paul and one who perished at the helm.
They went as if at bugle-call to drill;
Their comrades said, 'They never will return.'
Stoutly and steadily Paul rowed the boat
Athwart the turbid river's sullen tide,
And reached the wounded struggling in the flood.
Bravely they worked away and lifted in
The helpless till the boat would hold no more;
Others they helped to holds upon the rails,
Then pulled away the over-laden craft.
We cheered them from the shore. The maddened foe
With furious volleys answered—hitting oft
The little craft of mercy—hands anon
Let go their holds and sunk into the deep.
And in that storm Paul's gallant comrade fell.
Trimming his craft with caution Paul could make
But little headway with a single oar—
Clutched in despair and madly wrenched away
By drowning souls the other. Firm and cool
Paul stood unscathed; then fell a sudden shower
That broke his bended oar-stem at the blade.
Down to the brink we crept and stretched our hands,
And shouted, 'Overboard, Paul! and save yourself.'
"He stood a moment as if all were lost,
Then caught the rope, and stretching forth his hand,
Waved to the foe and plunged into the flood.
Slowly he towed the clumsy craft and swam,
Down-drifting with the rapid, rolling stream.
Cheering him on adown the shore we ran;
The current lent its aid and bore him in
Toward us, and beyond the range at last
Of foemen's fire he safely came to land,
Mooring his boat amid a storm of cheers.
"Confined in hospital three days he lay
Fatigued and feverous, but tender hands
Nursed and restored him. Our old Colonel came
And thanked him—patting Paul paternally—
And praised his daring. 'My brave boy,' he said,
'Had I a regiment of such men, by Jove!
I'd hew a path to Richmond and to fame.'
Paul made reply, and in his smile and tone
Mingled a touch of sarcasm:
"'Thank you, sir;
But let me add—I fear the wary foe
Would nab your regiment napping on the field.
You have forgotten, Colonel—not so fast—
I am the man that slept upon his post.'
Our bluff old Colonel laughed and turned away;
Ten minutes later came his kind reply—
A basketful of luxuries from his mess.
"Paul marched and fought and marched and fought again,
Patient and earnest through the bootless toils
And fiery trials of that dread campaign
Upon the Peninsula. 'Twas fitly called
'Campaign of Battles.' Aye, it sorely pierced
The scarred and bleeding nation, and drew blood
Deep from her vitals till she shook and reeled,
Like some huge giant staggering to his fall—
Blinded with blood, yet struggling with his soul,
And stretching forth his ponderous, brawny arms,
Like Samson in the Temple, to o'erwhelm
And crush his mocking enemies in his fall.
"Ah, Malvern! you remember Malvern Hill—
That night of dreadful butchery! Round the top
Of the entrenchèd summit, parked and aimed,
Blazed like Vesuvius when he bellows fire
And molten lava into the midnight heavens,
An hundred crashing cannon, and the hill
Shook to the thunder of the mighty guns,
As ocean trembles to the bursting throes
Of submarine volcanoes; and the shells
From the embattled gun-boats—fiery fiends—
Shrieked on the night and through the ether hissed
Like hell's infernals. Line supporting line,
From base to summit round the blazing hill,
Our infantry was posted. Crowned with fire,
And zoned by many a burning, blazing belt
From head to foot, and belching sulphurous flames,
The embattled hill appeared a raging fiend—
The Lucifer of hell let loose to reign
Over a world wrapt in the final fires.