Mine? yes, a mine! Countermine! down, down! and
creep through the hole,
Keep the revolver in hand! You can hear him—the
murderous mole.
Quiet! ah! quiet—wait till the point of
the pickaxe
be through!
Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again
than before—
Now let it speak, and you fire, and the dark pioneer
is
no more;
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England
blew.
VI.
Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it
chanced
on a day,
Soon as the blast of that underground thunder-clap
echoed
away,
Dark through the smoke and the sulphur, like so many
fiends
in their hell—
Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell
upon
yell—
Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemies fell.
VII.
What have they done? where is it? Out yonder.
Guard
the Redan!
Storm at the Water-gate, storm at the Bailey-gate!
storm,
and it ran
Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every
side
Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily drowned
by
the
tide—
So many thousands that if they be bold enough, who
shall
escape?
Kill or be killed, live or die, they shall know we
are
soldiers
and men.
VIII.
Ready! take aim at their leaders—their
masses are
gapped
with our grape—
Backward they reel like the wave, like the wave
flinging
forward again,
Flying and foiled at the last by the handful they
could
not
subdue;
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England
blew.
IX.
Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart
and
in limb,
Strong with the strength of the race to command, to
obey,
to endure,
Each of us fought as if hope for the garrison hung
but
on
him—
Still, could we watch at all points? We were
every
day
fewer and fewer.
X.
There was a whisper among us, but only a whisper
that
passed—
“Children and wives—if the tigers
leap into the folds
unawares,
Every man die at his post—and the foe may
outlive
us
at last,
Better to fall by the hands that they love, than to
fall
into
theirs.”