 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
THE WRATH OF McDAWDLE
A CONSERVATIVE LEGEND
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[General George B. McClellan, in 1862, was severely criticized for his tardiness and hesitation. It was claimed that he was over-cautious, that he spent too much time in preparation, and thus gave the enemy the advantage and an opportunity to escape.]
McDawdle brooked no spoiler's wrong,
Famous in border raid and song,
Famous in border raid and song,
But hearing the tale of outrage told,
His heart waxed hot and his eye grew cold,
His heart waxed hot and his eye grew cold,
And said, “Now, by my ancestral hall,
This day shall McDawdle's vengeance fall!”
This day shall McDawdle's vengeance fall!”
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So he bade them bring him his barbèd steed,
And rode from his castle gate with speed.
And rode from his castle gate with speed.
The high portcullis he paused beside,
And said, “With me shall a Squire ride
And said, “With me shall a Squire ride
“With a fresher lance, lest this should bend
To some traitor's breast—which saints forfend!”
To some traitor's breast—which saints forfend!”
So his Squire beside him armed did go,
With an extra lance at his saddle-bow.
With an extra lance at his saddle-bow.
But when the heavy drawbridge dropped,
McDawdle tightened his rein and stopped,
McDawdle tightened his rein and stopped,
And said, “Those spared in the fight, I wist,
With gyves should be manacled each wrist.”
With gyves should be manacled each wrist.”
So they brought him gyves and again he sped
While his henchmen held their breath with dread.
While his henchmen held their breath with dread.
But when he had passed the castle moat,
He checked his steed, and his brow he smote,
He checked his steed, and his brow he smote,
And said: “By'r Lady, methinks 'twere well
That with me should ride a priest and bell
That with me should ride a priest and bell
“To shrive the souls of the men I slay,
And mine own, should I fall in this deadly fray.”
And mine own, should I fall in this deadly fray.”
So they brought him a priest with a bell and book,
And again the earth with his gallop shook.
And again the earth with his gallop shook.
When he reached the spot where the caitiffs lay,
Lo, the coward knaves had stolen away,
Lo, the coward knaves had stolen away,
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Taking the spoil of his goodly land,
Dreading the might of his strong right hand.
Dreading the might of his strong right hand.
'T were well for the caitiff knaves that they
Had wisely gone from McDawdle's way,
Had wisely gone from McDawdle's way,
Lest he fall upon them with certain death;
And psalms went up from each caitiff's breath.
And psalms went up from each caitiff's breath.
And psalms went up from McDawdle's hall,
When they saw him ride to the outer wall.
When they saw him ride to the outer wall.
And the bard made a song of McDawdle's wrath,
And this is the song which that minstrel hath:
And this is the song which that minstrel hath:
“Ye bold intent doth ye deed surpasse
Of ye braggart childe with ee of glasse.”
Of ye braggart childe with ee of glasse.”
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |