Classic Poem

THE I NDIAN B ATTLE

I

This happen'd (I forget the year)
Shortly after we came here.
All upon a summer day
Was I busy with the hay.
While I paus'd to wipe my face,
I could see, with hurried pace,
Someone coming down the hill —
What! can that be Lazy Bill?
Sure there's something in the blast
When poor Billy runs so fast!
Up he came, and down he sat,
Puffed, and laid aside his hat;
Wiped the sweat from off his face:
" Oh, my vitals, what a race!
Go! oh, go, and get your gun,
Or we're murdered, every one!

" All the Mohawks are upon us —
May the Lord have mercy on us!
They are thick as pigeons — Hush!
Hear them yelling in the brush!
Death in any shape is horrid,
But 'tis awful to be worried!
Oh! to think that I came here
To be roasted like a deer!
Little did I think, oh, Dee,
That would be the end of me.
Had I but a gun and sword
I would dash among the horde;
On the cannibals I'd set —
I'd do something desperate! "

II

Home we went, where all were arming,
For the thing look'd quite alarming:
Children, with imploring looks,
Running into secret nooks;
Women seeking hiding-places,
With their terror-stricken faces;
Men were running here and there,
Hunting weapons everywhere —
Anything that could be found,
Aught that would inflict a wound;
For we all resolv'd we should
Sell our lives as dear's we could.

III

There was fighting Bill from Kent
(Bill was in his element),
Stalking, like a soldier born,
With his gun and powder-horn;
Then there was old soldier Hugh,
With his sword, and musket, too:
Like a gen'ral there he stood,
In his old commanding mood.
Soon we muster'd fifty men,
But of muskets only ten;
Seven pitchforks and a dirk,
They would help us do the work;
Each man had an ax, at least,
And a will to do his best.
Soldier Hugh assumed command,
And the line of battle plann'd,
Sent his scouts, that he might know
The manaeuvres of the foe.
" Muskets to the front! " cried he;
" Keep your ranks, and follow me! "

IV

Then, with pulses beating high,
On we marched to do or die.
When we reach'd yon little height,
Then we halted for the fight;
Where we all in silence stood,
Looking down upon the wood.
Then there rose a fearful yell,
As of fiends let loose from hell;
We could hear the arrows whirring,
And the very leaves seem'd stirring.
" Now, my lads, be firm and steady;
When order's giv'n, be ye ready.
Pikemen, you protect the rear;
Presently we'll have them here. "
Not a whisper, not a breath,
In a silence deep as death,
With grim faces, there we stood
Looking down upon the wood.
Minute after minute pass'd,
And suspense grew great at last;
We would have giv'n much to know
The motions of our hidden foe;
But at last a scout came in,
Saying, with a laughing grin,
We might safely all disarm,
For 'twas but a false alarm —
'Twas two tribes in war array
That had fought since break of day,
And their chieftains, fierce and cruel,
Were preparing for a duel.
This was welcome news indeed!
From the fear of danger freed,
Off we started with delight
To behold the coming fight.

V

In the bosom of the wood,
With his tribe each chieftain stood.
An old windfall's level green
Form'd an open space between,
And the silence was unbroken,
Not a single word was spoken.
Yet anxiety and hope
In each bosom seem'd to cope.
Hate, the horrid heritage
Handed down from age to age,
In the swarthy faces shone
As the chiefs came slowly on.

VI

Eagle, tall and straight and daring,
Stept out with a lordly bearing;
Ease and grace were in his tread,
An eagle's feather on his head.
Agile as the stag was he,
Brave and beautiful to see,
Courage in his very walk;
In one hand a tomahawk,
And the other grasp'd a knife —
Thus he stalk'd on to the strife.

VII

Hemlock seem'd much less in height,
Broader and of greater might;
Shoulders of herculean strength,
Arms of an enormous length;
Muscular and firmly set,
Strength and cunning in him met;
On his head a raven's plume,
In his eye a savage gloom.
Many a war-path he had walk'd,
Many a foe had tomahawk'd —
A model savage, dark and dun,
Devil, if there e'er was one.
He approach'd with stealthy pace,
And the cunning of his race.

VIII

Each stood still to eye his foe
Ere he'd make the fatal throw.
Hemlock seem'd about to fling,
Eagle gave a whoop and spring,
Seem'd as if he taller grew;
Both upon the instant threw.
Eagle wheel'd, the weapon pass'd,
Or that whoop had been his last;
Hemlock, sinking on the plain,
Quick was on his feet again;
Down his face a stream of red,
Deep the gash upon his head.
There a moment he did stand,
Grasp'd the long knife in his hand,
Then he bounded on apace;
Eagle met him in the race.
Closing with a fearful yell,
Grappling, they together fell.
O'er each other there they roll'd,
Clasping each in deadly hold;
And, anon, with seeming ease,
Hemlock rises to his knees
(Still his foe is in his grasp,
Lock'd within his deadly clasp);
On his haunches, like a bear,
Holds him for a moment there.
In his eyes the blood is streaming;
I could see the long knife gleaming.
Ere the blow could fall amain
He is rolling on the plain.
Sudden as the panther fleet,
Eagle springs upon his feet;
Like the serpent in the brake,
Or the deadly rattlesnake,
With a quick, unerring dart,
Strikes his victim to the heart;
On him leaps with deadly glare,
Twines his fingers in his hair,
And, before his kindred's eyes,
There he scalps him ere he dies.

IX

There the rival nations stood,
Umpires of the deadly feud;
Silent, yet with wild delight,
Watch'd the fortunes of the fight;
But the Hurons, one and all,
When they saw their chieftain fall,
Tho' they seem'd a moment crush'd,
Like a tempest on they rush'd;
When Eagle, with triumphant cry,
Waved their chieftain's scalp on high;
Then he bounded like a deer
To the Mohawks, hast'ning near.
Then the Hurons stood at bay,
Bore their slaughter'd chief away;
Far into the woods they bore,
And were seen and heard no more.