'
And far to the north through the still night air,
They heard the rifles crack.
And the boom of a gun rang out,
Like the sound of a deep appeal,
And the picket stood in doubt
By the side of the driving-wheel.
But the Engineer looked down,
With his hand on the starting-bar,
`Ride ye back to the town,
Ye know what my orders are,
Maybe they're wanting the Scotch Brigade
Up on those hills afar.
`I am no soldier at all,
Only an engineer,
But I could not bear that the folk should say,
Over in Scotland -- Glasgow way --
That Hector Clark stayed here
With the Scotch Brigade till the foe were gone,
With ever a rail to run her on.
Ready behind! Stand clear!
`Fireman, get you gone
Into the armoured train,
I will drive her alone;
One more trip -- and perhaps the last --
With a well-raked fire and an open blast --
Hark to the rifles again.'
. . . . .
On through the choking dark,
Never a lamp nor a light,
Never an engine spark,
Showing her hurried flight.
Over the lonely plain
Rushed the great armoured train,
Hurrying up to the fight.
Pages:
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54