Rio Grande's Last Race & Other Verses Part 14

We reached the drift at fall of night, and camped across the ford.

Next day from all the hills around the Dutchman's cannons roared.

A narrow pa.s.s between the hills, with guns on either side; The boldest man might well turn pale before that pa.s.s he tried, For if the first attack should fail then every hope was gone: But French looked once, and only once, and then he said, 'Push on!'

The gunners plied their guns amain; the hail of shrapnel flew; With rifle fire and lancer charge their squadrons back we threw; And through the pa.s.s between the hills we swept in furious fray, And French was through to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.

Ay, French was through to Kimberley! And ere the day was done We saw the Diamond City stand, lit by the evening sun: Above the town the heliograph hung like an eye of flame: Around the town the foemen camped -- they knew not that we came; But soon they saw us, rank on rank; they heard our squadrons' tread; In panic fear they left their tents, in hopeless rout they fled; And French rode into Kimberley; the people cheered amain, The women came with tear-stained eyes to touch his bridle rein, The starving children lined the streets to raise a feeble cheer, The bells rang out a joyous peal to say 'Relief is here!'

Ay! we that saw that stirring march are proud that we can say We went with French to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.

Johnny Boer

Men fight all shapes and sizes as the racing horses run, And no man knows his courage till he stands before a gun.

At mixed-up fighting, hand to hand, and clawing men about They reckon Fuzzy-wuzzy is the hottest fighter out.

But Fuzzy gives himself away -- his style is out of date, He charges like a driven grouse that rushes on its fate; You've nothing in the world to do but pump him full of lead: But when you're fighting Johnny Boer you have to use your head; He don't believe in front attacks or charging at the run, He fights you from a kopje with his little Maxim gun.

For when the Lord He made the earth, it seems uncommon clear, He gave the job of Africa to some good engineer, Who started building fortresses on fas.h.i.+ons of his own -- Lunettes, redoubts, and counterscarps all made of rock and stone.

The Boer needs only bring a gun, for ready to his hand He finds these heaven-built fortresses all scattered through the land; And there he sits and winks his eye and wheels his gun about, And we must charge across the plain to hunt the beggar out.

It ain't a game that grows on us, there's lots of better fun Than charging at old Johnny with his little Maxim gun.

On rocks a goat could scarcely climb, steep as the walls of Troy, He wheels a four-point-seven about as easy as a toy; With bullocks yoked and drag-ropes manned, he lifts her up the rocks And s.h.i.+fts her every now and then, as cunning as a fox.

At night you mark her right ahead, you see her clean and clear, Next day at dawn -- 'What, ho! she b.u.mps' -- from somewhere in the rear.

Or else the keenest-eyed patrol will miss him with the gla.s.s -- He's lying hidden in the rocks to let the leaders pa.s.s; But when the main guard comes along he opens up the fun, There's lots of ammunition for the little Maxim gun.

But after all the job is sure, although the job is slow, We have to see the business through, the Boer has got to go.

With Nordenfeldt and lyddite sh.e.l.l it's certain, soon or late, We'll hunt him from his kopjes and across the Orange State; And then across those open flats you'll see the beggar run, And we'll be running after with OUR little Maxim gun.

What Have the Cavalry Done

What have the cavalry done?

Cantered and trotted about, Routin' the enemy out, Causin' the beggars to run!

And we tramped along in the blazin' heat, Over the veldt on our weary feet.

Tramp, tramp, tramp Under the blazin' sun, With never the sight of a bloomin' Boer, 'Cause they'd hunted 'em long before -- That's what the cavalry done!

What have the gunners done Battlin' every day, Battlin' any way.

Boers outranged 'em, but what cared they?

'Shoot and be d.a.m.ned,' said the R.H.A.!

See! when the fight grows hot, Under the rifles or not, Always the order runs, 'Fetch up the bloomin' guns!'

And you'd see them great gun-horses spring To the 'action front' -- and around they'd swing.

Find the range with some queer machine 'At four thousand with fuse fourteen.

Ready! Fire number one!'

Handled the battery neat and quick!

Stick to it, too! How DID they stick!

Never a gunner was seen to run!

Never a gunner would leave his gun!

Not though his mates dropped all around!

Always a gunner would stand his ground.

Take the army -- the infantry, Mounted rifles, and cavalry, Twice the numbers I'd give away, And I'd fight the lot with the R.H.A., For they showed us how a corps SHOULD be run, That's what the gunners done!

Right in the Front of the Army

'Where 'ave you been this week or more, 'Aven't seen you about the war?

Thought perhaps you was at the rear Guarding the waggons.' 'What, us? No fear!

Where have we been? Why, bless my heart, Where have we been since the bloomin' start?

Right in the front of the army, Battling day and night!

Right in the front of the army, Teaching 'em how to fight!'

Every separate man you see, Sapper, gunner, and C.I.V., Every one of 'em seems to be Right in the front of the army!

Most of the troops to the camp had gone, When we met with a cow-gun toiling on; And we said to the boys, as they walked her past, 'Well, thank goodness, you're here at last!'

'Here at last! Why, what d'yer mean?

Ain't we just where we've always been?

Right in the front of the army, Battling day and night!

Right in the front of the army, Teaching 'em how to fight!'

Correspondents and vets. in force, Mounted foot and dismounted horse, All of them were, as a matter of course, Right in the front of the army.

Old Lord Roberts will have to mind If ever the enemy get behind; For they'll smash him up with a rear attack, Because his army has got no back!

Think of the horrors that might befall An army without any rear at all!

Right in the front of the army, Battling day and night!

Right in the front of the army, Teaching 'em how to fight!

Swede attaches and German counts, Yeomen (known as De Wet's remounts), All of them were by their own accounts Right in the front of the army!

That V.C.

'Twas in the days of front attack, This glorious truth we'd yet to learn it -- That every 'front' had got a back, And French was just the man to turn it.

A wounded soldier on the ground Was lying hid behind a hummock; He proved the good old proverb sound -- An army travels on its stomach.

He lay as flat as any fish, His nose had worn a little furrow; He only had one frantic wish, That like an antbear he could burrow.

The bullets whistled into s.p.a.ce, The pom-pom gun kept up its braying, The four-point-seven supplied the ba.s.s -- You'd think the devil's band was playing.