Custer, and Other Poems Part 11

And now brave Custer's valiant army pressed Across the dangerous desert of the West, To rescue fair white captives from the hands Of brutal Cheyenne and Comanche bands, On Was.h.i.ta's bleak banks. Nine hundred strong It moved its slow determined way along, Past frontier homes left dark and desolate By the wild Indians' fierce and unrelenting hate;

VI.

Past forts where ranchmen, strong of heart and bold, Wept now like orphaned children as they told, With quivering muscles and with anguished breath, Of captured wives, whose fate was worse than death; Past naked bodies whose disfiguring wounds Spoke of the h.e.l.lish hate of human hounds; Past bleaching skeleton and rifled grave, On pressed th' avenging host, to rescue and to save.

VII.

Uncertain Nature, like a fickle friend, (Worse than the foe on whom we may depend) Turned on these dauntless souls a brow of wrath And hurled her icy jav'lins in their path.

With treacherous quicksands, and with storms that blight, Entrapped their footsteps and confused their sight.

"Yet on," urged Custer, "on at any cost, No hour is there to waste, no moment to be lost."

VIII.

Determined, silent, on they rode, and on, Like fabled Centaurs, men and steeds seemed one.

No bugle echoed and no voice spoke near, Lest on some lurking Indian's list'ning ear The sound might fall. Through swift descending snow The stealthy guides crept, tracing out the foe; No fire was lighted, and no halt was made From haggard gray-lipped dawn till night lent friendly shade.

IX.

Then, by the shelt'ring river's bank at last, The weary warriors paused for their repast.

A couch of ice and falling snows for spread Made many a suffering soldier's chilling bed.

They slept to dream of glory and delight, While the pale fingers of the pitying night Wove ghostly winding sheets for that doomed score Who, ere another eve, should sleep to wake no more.

X.

But those who slept not, saw with startled eyes Far off, athwart dim unprotecting skies, Ascending slowly with majestic grace, A l.u.s.trous rocket, rising out of s.p.a.ce.

"Behold the signal of the foe," cried one, The field is lost before the strife's begun.

Yet no! for see! yon rays spread near and far; It is the day's first smile, the radiant morning star.

XI.

The long hours counting till the daylight broke, In whispered words the restless warriors spoke.

They talked of battles, but they thought of home (For hearts are faithful though the feet may roam).

Brave Hamilton, all eager for the strife, Mused o'er that two-fold mystery--death and life; "And when I die," quoth he, "mine be the part To fall upon the field, a bullet in my heart."

XII.

At break of dawn the scouts crept in to say The foe was camped a rifle shot away.

The baying of a dog, an infant's cry Pierced through the air; sleep fled from every eye.

To horse! to arms! the dead demand the dead!

Let the grand charge upon the lodge be led!

Let the Mosaic law, life for a life Pay the long standing debt of blood. War to the knife!

XIII.

So spake each heart in that unholy rage Which fires the brain, when war the thoughts engage.

War, hideous war, appealing to the worst In complex man, and waking that wild thirst For human blood which blood alone can slake.

Yet for their country's safety, and the sake Of tortured captives moaning in alarm The Indian must be made to fear the law's strong arm.

XIV.

A n.o.ble vengeance burned in Custer's breast, But, as he led his army to the crest, Above the wigwams, ready for the charge He felt the heart within him, swelling large With human pity, as an infant's wail Shrilled once again above the wintry gale.

Then hosts of murdered children seemed to rise; And shame his halting thought with sad accusing eyes,

XV.

And urge him on to action. Stern of brow The just avenger, and the General now, He gives the silent signal to the band Which, all impatient, waits for his command.

Cold lips to colder metal press; the air Echoes those merry strains which mean despair For sleeping chieftain and for toiling squaw, But joy to those stern hearts which glory in the law

XVI.

Of murder paying murder's awful debt.

And now four squadrons in one charge are met.

From east and west, from north and south they come, At call of bugle and at roll of drum.

Their rifles rain hot hail upon the foe, Who flee from danger in death's jaws to go.

The Indians fight like maddened bulls at bay, And dying shriek and groan, wound the young ear of day.

XVII.

A pallid captive and a white-browed boy Add to the tumult piercing cries of joy, As forth they fly, with high hope animate.

A hideous squaw pursues them with her hate; Her knife descends with sickening force and sound; Their b.l.o.o.d.y entrails stain the snow-clad ground.

She shouts with glee, then yells with rage and falls Dead by her victims' side, pierced by avenging b.a.l.l.s.

XVIII.

Now war runs riot, carnage reigns supreme.

All thoughts of mercy fade from Custer's scheme.

Inhuman methods for inhuman foes, Who feed on horrors and exult in woes.

To conquer and subdue alone remains In dealing with the red man on the plains.

The breast that knows no conscience yields to fear, Strike! let the Indian meet his master now and here.

XIX.

With thoughts like these was Custer's mind engaged.

The gentlest are the sternest when enraged.

All felt the swift contagion of his ire, For he was one who could arouse and fire The coldest heart, so ardent was his own.