Custer, and Other Poems Part 12

His fearless eye, his calm intrepid tone, Bespoke the leader, strong with conscious power, Whom following friends will bless, while foes will curse and cower.

XX.

Again they charge! and now among the killed Lies Hamilton, his wish so soon fulfilled, Brave Elliott pursues across the field The flying foe, his own young life to yield.

But like the leaves in some autumnal gale The red men fall in Was.h.i.ta's wild vale.

Each painted face and black befeathered head Still more repulsive seems with death's grim pallor wed.

XXI.

New forces gather on surrounding knolls, And fierce and fiercer war's red river rolls.

With bright-hued pennants flying from each lance The gayly costumed Kiowas advance.

And bold Comanches (Bedouins of the land) Infuse fresh spirit in the Cheyenne band.

While from the ambush of some dark ravine Flash arrows aimed by hands, unerring and unseen.

XXIII.

The hours advance; the storm clouds roll away; Still furious and more furious grows the fray.

The yellow sun makes ghastlier still the sight Of painted corpses, staring in its light.

No longer slaves, but comrades of their griefs, The squaws augment the forces of their chiefs.

They chant weird dirges in a minor key, While from the narrow door of wigwam and tepee

[Transcriber's Note: originally the remaining stanzas of Book II were numbered incorrectly from here onwards. This has been changed to avoid confusion]

XXIV.

Cold glittering eyes above cold glittering steel Their deadly purpose and their hate reveal.

The click of pistols and the crack of guns Proclaim war's daughters dangerous as her sons.

She who would wield the soldier's sword and lance Must be prepared to take the soldier's chance.

She who would shoot must serve as target, too; The battle-frenzied men, infuriate now pursue.

XXV.

And blood of warrior, woman and papoose, Flow free as waters when some dam breaks loose; Consuming fire, the wanton friend of war (Whom allies worship and whom foes abhor) Now trails her crimson garments through the street, And ruin marks the pa.s.sing of her feet.

Full three-score lodges smoke upon the plain, And all the vale is strewn with bodies of the slain.

XXVI.

And those who are not numbered with the dead Before all-conquering Custer now are led.

To soothe their woes, and calm their fears he seeks; An Osage guide interprets while he speaks.

The vanquished captives, humbled, cowed and spent Read in the victor's eye his kind intent.

The modern victor is as kind as brave; His captive is his guest, not his insulted slave.

XXVII.

Mahwissa, sister of the slaughtered chief Of all the Cheyennes, listens; and her grief Yields now to hope; and o'er her withered face There flits the stealthy cunning of her race.

Then forth she steps, and thus begins to speak: "To aid the fallen and support the weak Is man's true province; and to ease the pain Of those o'er whom it is his purpose now to reign.

XXVIII.

"Let the strong chief unite with theirs his life, And take this black-eyed maiden for a wife."

Then, moving with an air of proud command, She leads a dusky damsel by the hand, And places her at wondering Custer's side, Invoking choicest blessings on the bride And all unwilling groom, who thus replies.

"Fair is the Indian maid, with bright bewildering eyes,

XXIX.

"But fairer still is one who, year on year, Has borne man's burdens, conquered woman's fear; And at my side rode mile on weary mile, And faced all deaths, all dangers, with a smile, Wise as Minerva, as Diana brave, Is she whom generous G.o.ds in kindness gave To share the hardships of my wandering life, Companion, comrade, friend, my loved and loyal wife.

x.x.x.

"The white chief weds but one. Take back thy maid."

He ceased, and o'er Mahwissa's face a shade Of mingled scorn and pity and surprise Sweeps as she slow retreats, and thus replies: "Rich is the pale-faced chief in battle fame, But poor is he who but one wife may claim.

Wives are the red-skinned heroes' rightful spoil; In war they prove his strength, in times of peace they toil."

x.x.xI.

But hark! The bugle echoes o'er the plains And sounds again those merry Celtic strains Which oft have called light feet to lilting dance, But now they mean the order to advance.

Along the river's bank, beyond the hill Two thousand foemen lodge, unconquered still.

Ere falls night's curtain on this b.l.o.o.d.y play, The army must proceed, with feint of further fray.

x.x.xII.

The weary warriors mount their foam-flecked steeds, With flags unfurled the dauntless host proceeds.

What though the foe outnumbers two to one?

Boldness achieves what strength oft leaves undone; A daring mein will cause brute force to cower, And courage is the secret source of power.

As Custer's column wheels upon their sight The frightened red men yield the untried field by flight.

x.x.xIII.

Yet when these conquering heroes sink to rest, Dissatisfaction gnaws the leader's breast, For far away across vast seas of snows Held prisoners still by hostile Arapahoes And Cheyennes unsubdued, two captives wait.

On G.o.d and Custer hangs their future fate.

May the Great Spirit nerve the mortal's arm To rescue suffering souls from worse than death's alarm.

x.x.xIV.

But ere they seek to rescue the oppressed, The valiant dead, in state, are laid to rest.

Mourned Hamilton, the faithful and the brave, Nine hundred comrades follow to the grave; And close behind the banner-hidden corse All draped in black, walks mournfully his horse; While tears of sound drip through the sunlit day.