 | English Roses |  |
“HOLD THE GUN!”
A Ballad of the Chitral Campaign.
“Hold the gun!”
This was the order
Of the captain in command,
When we met the Hill marauder
Under India's fiery sun;
And our belts we buckled closer, for we were resolved to stand.
Ah, the peril made us bolder,
As with shoulder unto shoulder
We the game had now begun,
All begrimed with smoke and powder
Though the enemies were legion and their Mollahs cursed us louder—
“Hold the gun!”
This was the order
Of the captain in command,
When we met the Hill marauder
Under India's fiery sun;
And our belts we buckled closer, for we were resolved to stand.
Ah, the peril made us bolder,
As with shoulder unto shoulder
We the game had now begun,
All begrimed with smoke and powder
Though the enemies were legion and their Mollahs cursed us louder—
“Hold the gun!”
“Hold the gun!”
It was with blazes
And red ruin that we spat,
Up among those rocky mazes;
And our foemen liked the fun,
Though we gave them hell and shrapnel and a pretty dose of that;
For those charcoal-painted devils
Did not shirk the bloody revels,
And with patience might have won;
But we rammed the charges tighter,
And we sent right home their message and our bayonets waved brighter;—
“Hold the gun!”
It was with blazes
And red ruin that we spat,
Up among those rocky mazes;
And our foemen liked the fun,
Though we gave them hell and shrapnel and a pretty dose of that;
For those charcoal-painted devils
Did not shirk the bloody revels,
And with patience might have won;
But we rammed the charges tighter,
And we sent right home their message and our bayonets waved brighter;—
“Hold the gun!”
“Hold the gun!”
It was for glory
And the English name we stood,
Though the ground was hot and gory,
And the beggars would not run;
But we knew a soldier's duty, and our purpose still was good.
As the battle-cloud hung dimmer,
O we longed to see the glimmer
Of the steel, though there was none,
That showed friends were drawing nearer;
But we only saw the whites of hostile eyes, and hope grew drearer;—
“Hold the gun!”
It was for glory
172
Though the ground was hot and gory,
And the beggars would not run;
But we knew a soldier's duty, and our purpose still was good.
As the battle-cloud hung dimmer,
O we longed to see the glimmer
Of the steel, though there was none,
That showed friends were drawing nearer;
But we only saw the whites of hostile eyes, and hope grew drearer;—
“Hold the gun!”
“Hold the gun!”
The shots came quicker,
And the Chitral aim was true,
While our gallant men fell thicker
If they tumbled one by one;
And for every pal they potted, we wiped out at least our two.
But they rushed on fierce and faster,
And the rocks rained down disaster,
And the daylight was nigh done;
But (you see) we had our order,
And we kept a ring of iron round our broken little border;—
“Hold the gun!”
The shots came quicker,
And the Chitral aim was true,
While our gallant men fell thicker
If they tumbled one by one;
And for every pal they potted, we wiped out at least our two.
But they rushed on fierce and faster,
And the rocks rained down disaster,
And the daylight was nigh done;
But (you see) we had our order,
And we kept a ring of iron round our broken little border;—
“Hold the gun!”
“Hold the gun!”
When we waxed fewer
Firm our courage held out yet,
And we played in turn pursuer,
Giving every mother's son
That would face us short damnation with the blooming bayonet.
If we met assaults or sallied,
Close our thinning ranks we rallied,
Though a falling stone might stun
Here and there a bleeding brother;
We were ready for the loss, and in his place arose another;—
“Hold the gun!”
When we waxed fewer
Firm our courage held out yet,
And we played in turn pursuer,
Giving every mother's son
That would face us short damnation with the blooming bayonet.
If we met assaults or sallied,
Close our thinning ranks we rallied,
Though a falling stone might stun
Here and there a bleeding brother;
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“Hold the gun!”
“Hold the gun!”
When all but honour
Now was gone, and England seemed
Doomed with black eclipse upon her
And her stainless flag undone,
Through the hubbub came a cheering, which at first we thought we dreamed;
Till with blinded eyes and parching
Throats, we heard our comrades marching,
And the web that Chitral spun,
In a moment then was shattered
To the winds, and all those charcoal sketches rubbed clean out or scattered;—
“Hold the gun!”
When all but honour
Now was gone, and England seemed
Doomed with black eclipse upon her
And her stainless flag undone,
Through the hubbub came a cheering, which at first we thought we dreamed;
Till with blinded eyes and parching
Throats, we heard our comrades marching,
And the web that Chitral spun,
In a moment then was shattered
To the winds, and all those charcoal sketches rubbed clean out or scattered;—
“Hold the gun!”
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