Out we went in the dead of the night! away to the desert, across the
sand—
Guided alone by the stars of Heaven! a speechless host! a ghostly
band!
No cheery voice the silence broke; forbidden to speak, we could hear
no sound
But the whispered words, "Be firm, my boys!" and the horses' hoofs on
the sandy ground.
"What were we thinking of then?" Look here! if this is the last true
word I speak,
I felt a lump in my throat—just here—and a tear came trickling down
my cheek.
If a man dares say that I funked, he lies! But a man is a man though
he gives his life
For his country's, cause, as a soldier should—he has still got a
heart for his child and wife!
But I still rode on in a kind of dream; I was thinking of home and
the boys—and then
The silence broke! and, a bugle blew! then a voice rang cheerily,
"Charge, my men!"
So pass the word in the thick of the fight,
For England's honour and England's right!
What is it like, a cavalry charge in the dead of night? I can
scarcely tell,
For when it is over it's like a dream, and when you are in it a kind
of hell!
I should like you to see the officers lead—forgetting their swagger
and Bond Street air—
Like brothers and men at the head of the troop, while bugles echo and
troopers dare!
With a rush we are in it, and hard at work—there's scarcely a minute
to think or pause—
For right and left we are fighting hard for the regiment's honour and
country's cause!
Feather-bed warriors! On my life, be they Life Guards red or Horse
Guards blue,
They haven't lost much of the pluck, my boys, that their fathers
showed us at Waterloo!
It isn't for us, who are soldiers bred, to chatter of wars, be they
wrong or right;
We've to keep the oath that we gave our QUEEN! and when we are in
it—we've got to fight!
So pass the word, without any noise,
Bravo, Cavalry! Well done, boys!
Pass the word to the boys to-night, now that the battle is fairly
won.
A message has come from the EMPRESS-QUEEN—just what we wanted—
a brief "Well done!"
The sword and stirrup are sorely stained, and the pistol barrels are
empty quite,
And the poor old charger's piteous eyes bear evidence clear of the
desperate fight.
There's many a wound and many a gash, and the sun-burned face is
scarred and red;
There's many a trooper safe and sound, and many a tear for the "pal"
who's dead!
I care so little for rights and wrongs of a terrible war; but the
world at large—
It knows so well when duty's done!—it will think sometimes of our
cavalry charge!
Brothers in arms and brothers in heart! we have solemnly taken an
oath! and then,
In all the battles throughout the world, we have followed our fathers
like Englishmen!
So pass this blessing the lips between—
'Tis the soldier's oath—GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.
MAFEKING.
"ADSUM!"
BY REV. A. FREWEN AYLWARD.
At the evening roll call at the "Charterhouse" School, where Baden-Powell was educated, it is customary for the boys to respond to the call of their names by saying "Adsum—I'm here!"
Oft as the shades of evening fell,
In the school-boy days of old,—
The form work done, or the game played well,—
Clanging aloft the old school bell
Uttered its summons bold;
And a bright lad answered the roll call clear,
"Adsum,—I'm here!"
A foe-girt town and a captain true
Out on the Afric plain;—
High overhead his Queen's flag flew,
But foes were many and friends but few;
Who shall guard that flag from stain?
And calm 'mid confusion a voice rang clear,
"Adsum,—I'm here!"
The slow weeks passed, and no succour came,
Famine and death were rife;
Yet still that banner of deathless fame,
Floated, unsullied by fear or shame,
Over the scene of strife;
And the voice,—though weaker—was full of cheer,
"Adsum,—I'm here!"