Ballads of the War :: :: University of Virginia Library

I am a man of Scottish blood!
Commandeered for the fight;
They tried on me their Kaffir tricks,
They rained their curses, blows and kicks,
And swore to shoot outright.

But I was built of Scottish blood!
That blood ran never thin.
I cried, “My brains may scattered be,
But Paul shall get no help from me
Against my kith and kin.”

I am a man of Scottish blood!
The cowards, ten to one,
They bound me—I was forced to yield—
They drove me to the battle-field,
They lashed me to a gun.

I am a man of Scottish blood!
The Lancers charged—I knelt
And prayed beside that limber's wheel;
May neither Boer nor Briton feel
What agonies I felt!

I am a man of Scottish blood!
On, on the Lancers came.
“My God, have mercy, Thou art just!”
Then something smote me to the dust:—
The Lancers passed like flame.

I am a man of Scottish blood!
I woke from swoon and night,
I found myself in doctor's hands,
Head broke—arms swoll'n and black from bands
They bound who bade me fight.

I am a man of Scottish blood!
They cried, “Who did this deed?”
“Some black-heart rogue,” I answered—“Schiel.”
They muttered, “God made man! the De'il
Alone could sire such breed!”

I am a man of Scottish blood!
God heard my prayer that day:—

There, on the pallet at my side,
And wounded sore—the wretch who tied
My arms to the limber—lay.

I am a man of Scottish blood!
My tongue I had forgot;
But like a Highland torrent strong,
The Gaelic came to curse the wrong
Done to a loyal Scot.

I am a man of Scottish blood!
Still hot it leaps within
At memory of those words we spake
In wrath at him who strove to make
Me fight my kith and kin.

Note.—An officer now in England, who was badly hurt at Elands-Laagte, tells a strange story. When charging the position a Lancer struck at an object, apparently a man, hiding behind a gun-limber, and then passed on to bestow his attentions elsewhere. Subsequently the object was found to be indeed a man, a man borne upon the Boer strength, and not only a man, but a Scotchman. His skull had been cracked by the Lancer, but he still remained at his post by the limber, though unconscious of all that was taking place around him, for it was discovered that his wrists had been tied behind him with stout cord, and his arms had similarly been tightly secured to the limber. In due time, the officer who tells this story and the Scot who had been so maltreated found themselves in a hospital ward together. Another person in that ward was “Colonel” Schiel, who lay wounded and a prisoner, the Scot and the

“Colonel” being side by side. When sufficiently recovered the Scot told his story to his wounded brethren of the ward. He had been “commandeered” to serve with the Boers, but absolutely refused to do so; if he must fight, he would fight in company with his own flesh and blood, but never against them. Thus protesting, he was secured and passed on to the front; where, he said, “a blackguard called Schiel,” who was in command of the Boer guns, had him tied fast to the limber, and that was all he could remember. It was not likely that he could long remain uninformed upon the fact that “the blackguard called Schiel” was his next neighbour; and then the pent-up flood-gates of his wrath were opened. . . . It was a happy moment for the unlucky Schiel when he left that hospital behind him