 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
612
THE OFFICERS' CALL.
BALLAD OF THE UTE WAR, 1879.
They may talk of the tremulous music that steals o'er the water at night,
How the waltz thrills the frame of the dancers who float through a downpour of light,
Or the magical stir of the drum-beat that pulses the echoing feet,
More yet of the voice of a mother when crooning a lullaby sweet;
Ah! sweeter by far was the music I heard in the lone trumpet sound,
Sharply piercing the dawn of the morning while redskins were prowling around.
How the waltz thrills the frame of the dancers who float through a downpour of light,
Or the magical stir of the drum-beat that pulses the echoing feet,
More yet of the voice of a mother when crooning a lullaby sweet;
Ah! sweeter by far was the music I heard in the lone trumpet sound,
Sharply piercing the dawn of the morning while redskins were prowling around.
Destruction awaiting, we lay there, cooped up in that horrible place,
Undaunted and waiting whatever fate fortune might give us to face.
Narrow there was the bound of our fortress, our riflepit hastily made,
Nigh hopeless seemed pluck and endeavor, yet never a man was afraid.
Even though in a twenty-fold number their host dared not venture too near,
Nor charge or in darkness or sunlight, lest boldness might cost them too dear.
Undaunted and waiting whatever fate fortune might give us to face.
Narrow there was the bound of our fortress, our riflepit hastily made,
Nigh hopeless seemed pluck and endeavor, yet never a man was afraid.
Even though in a twenty-fold number their host dared not venture too near,
Nor charge or in darkness or sunlight, lest boldness might cost them too dear.
Grew gloomy at moments the outlook, though not from the force of the foe,
Less our rations were growing and hunger might force to a desperate blow.
If Merritt came not with his forces to aid us ere famine begun,
Starvation might weaken our bodies and thus would their triumph be won.
Hasting off to Fort Trumbull for succor, five days had our messenger gone,
Our food shrinking smaller and smaller—and so it wore steadily on.
Less our rations were growing and hunger might force to a desperate blow.
613
Starvation might weaken our bodies and thus would their triumph be won.
Hasting off to Fort Trumbull for succor, five days had our messenger gone,
Our food shrinking smaller and smaller—and so it wore steadily on.
Thus wearily watching and waiting, at bay we lay there in a ring,
The Utes swarming round us like hornets and now and then showing a sting.
Once they fired the dead grass there to windward and charged under cloak of the smoke,
But they hurriedly scurried to distance when our rifle mouths angrily spoke;
And they, having hope in their numbers, in groups past our bullets they lay,
As a panther in wait in the forest, secure in the end of his prey.
The Utes swarming round us like hornets and now and then showing a sting.
Once they fired the dead grass there to windward and charged under cloak of the smoke,
But they hurriedly scurried to distance when our rifle mouths angrily spoke;
And they, having hope in their numbers, in groups past our bullets they lay,
As a panther in wait in the forest, secure in the end of his prey.
Though keenly they watched our encampment, they dared not risk life by attack—
Made feints now and then of assaulting, but kept from our sure rifles back;
But they held not their leaguer in quiet, harassing by day and by night,
And waylaid us when going for water—we won every drink through a fight.
Their thought was to worry and weary, our strength and our courage to drain;
Our thought was our messenger absent and if he were captive or slain.
Made feints now and then of assaulting, but kept from our sure rifles back;
But they held not their leaguer in quiet, harassing by day and by night,
And waylaid us when going for water—we won every drink through a fight.
Their thought was to worry and weary, our strength and our courage to drain;
Our thought was our messenger absent and if he were captive or slain.
614
We posted, the last day we lay there, a trumpeter early at dawn
To answer the signal of Merritt, if Merritt should ever come on,
When sweetly we heard in the distance, in musical cadence and fall,
Like the voice of the Comforting Angel, the notes of the Officers' Call,
Telling truly relief was approaching, all ready with bullet and blade.
And our trumpet's reply and our cheering a rare flood of harmony made.
To answer the signal of Merritt, if Merritt should ever come on,
When sweetly we heard in the distance, in musical cadence and fall,
Like the voice of the Comforting Angel, the notes of the Officers' Call,
Telling truly relief was approaching, all ready with bullet and blade.
And our trumpet's reply and our cheering a rare flood of harmony made.
We rose to our feet and we shouted, and louder and louder in camp
The cheers that we gave as their horses came on with a dull, steady tramp;
But the Utes did not linger to hear it; they mounted and galloped away
At the very first blast of that trumpet, nor did we implore them to stay;
And nothing we asked of our comrades, but there, in the hearing of all,
To sound once again on the trumpet the notes of the Officers' Call.
The cheers that we gave as their horses came on with a dull, steady tramp;
But the Utes did not linger to hear it; they mounted and galloped away
At the very first blast of that trumpet, nor did we implore them to stay;
And nothing we asked of our comrades, but there, in the hearing of all,
To sound once again on the trumpet the notes of the Officers' Call.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |