And never a word between them passed as they waited the first attack.
What prayers they said they said them low, and to their beating hearts
That thumped so loud and out of tune; and now the battle starts.
A ring of flame about them ran; a tongue of fire shot through;
Then as machines their muscles moved and aimed their rifles true.
The bullets whined, the wounded shrieked, the rifle bores grew hot;
But still the two stood back to back, and answered shot for shot.
And now the Moro fire dies down, and now there comes a hush;
And white and black, with bayonets fixed, await the bolo rush.
They heard the Moro chief call out, “Oh, black man, hark to me!