Rhymes of a Red Cross Man Part 14

The Stretcher-Bearer

My stretcher is one scarlet stain, And as I tries to sc.r.a.pe it clean, I tell you wot--I'm sick with pain For all I've 'eard, for all I've seen; Around me is the 'ellish night, And as the war's red rim I trace, I wonder if in 'Eaven's height, Our G.o.d don't turn away 'Is Face.

I don't care 'oose the Crime may be; I 'olds no brief for kin or clan; I 'ymns no 'ate: I only see As man destroys his brother man; I waves no flag: I only know, As 'ere beside the dead I wait, A million 'earts is weighed with woe, A million 'omes is desolate.

In drippin' darkness, far and near, All night I've sought them woeful ones.

Dawn shudders up and still I 'ear The crimson chorus of the guns.

Look! like a ball of blood the sun 'Angs o'er the scene of wrath and wrong... .

"Quick! Stretcher-bearers on the run!"

_O PRINCE OF PEACE! 'OW LONG, 'OW LONG?_

Wounded

Is it not strange? A year ago to-day, With scarce a thought beyond the hum-drum round, I did my decent job and earned my pay; Was averagely happy, I'll be bound.

Ay, in my little groove I was content, Seeing my life run smoothly to the end, With prosy days in stolid labour spent, And jolly nights, a pipe, a gla.s.s, a friend.

In G.o.d's good time a hearth fire's cosy gleam, A wife and kids, and all a fellow needs; When presto! like a bubble goes my dream: I leap upon the Stage of Splendid Deeds.

I yell with rage; I wallow deep in gore: I, that was clerk in a drysalter's store.

Stranger than any book I've ever read.

Here on the reeking battlefield I lie, Under the stars, propped up with smeary dead, Like too, if no one takes me in, to die.

Hit on the arms, legs, liver, lungs and gall; d.a.m.n glad there's nothing more of me to hit; But calm, and feeling never pain at all, And full of wonder at the turn of it.

For of the dead around me three are mine, Three foemen vanquished in the whirl of fight; So if I die I have no right to whine, I feel I've done my little bit all right.

I don't know how--but there the beggars are, As dead as herrings pickled in a jar.

And here am I, worse wounded than I thought; For in the fight a bullet bee-like stings; You never heed; the air is metal-hot, And all alive with little flicking wings.

_BUT ON YOU CHARGE._ You see the fellows fall; Your pal was by your side, fair fighting-mad; You turn to him, and lo! no pal at all; You wonder vaguely if he's copped it bad.

_BUT ON YOU CHARGE._ The heavens vomit death; And vicious death is besoming the ground.

You're blind with sweat; you're dazed, and out of breath, And though you yell, you cannot hear a sound.

_BUT ON YOU CHARGE._ Oh, War's a rousing game!

Around you smoky clouds like ogres tower; The earth is rowelled deep with spurs of flame, And on your helmet stones and ashes shower.

_BUT ON YOU CHARGE._ It's odd! You have no fear.

Machine-gun bullets whip and lash your path; Red, yellow, black the smoky giants rear; The shrapnel rips, the heavens roar in wrath.

_BUT ON YOU CHARGE._ Barbed wire all trampled down.

The ground all gored and rent as by a blast; Grim heaps of grey where once were heaps of brown; A ragged ditch--the Hun first line at last.

All smashed to h.e.l.l. Their second right ahead, _SO ON YOU CHARGE._ There's nothing else to do.

More reeking holes, blood, barbed wire, gruesome dead; (Your puttee strap's undone--that worries you).

You glare around. You think you're all alone.

But no; your chums come surging left and right.

The nearest chap flops down without a groan, His face still snarling with the rage of fight.

Ha! here's the second trench--just like the first, Only a little more so, more "laid out"; More pounded, flame-corroded, death-accurst; A pretty piece of work, beyond a doubt.

Now for the third, and there your job is done, _SO ON YOU CHARGE._ You never stop to think.

Your cursed puttee's trailing as you run; You feel you'd sell your soul to have a drink.

The acrid air is full of cracking whips.

You wonder how it is you're going still.

You foam with rage. Oh, G.o.d! to be at grips With someone you can rush and crush and kill.

Your sleeve is dripping blood; you're seeing red; You're battle-mad; your turn is coming now.

See! there's the jagged barbed wire straight ahead, And there's the trench--you'll get there anyhow.

Your puttee catches on a strand of wire, And down you go; perhaps it saves your life, For over sandbag rims you see 'em fire, Crop-headed chaps, their eyes ablaze with strife.

You crawl, you cower; then once again you plunge With all your comrades roaring at your heels.

_HAVE AT 'EM, LADS!_ You stab, you jab, you lunge; A blaze of glory, then the red world reels.

A crash of triumph, then ... you're faint a bit ...

That cursed puttee! Now to fasten it... .

Well, that's the charge. And now I'm here alone.

I've built a little wall of Hun on Hun, To s.h.i.+eld me from the leaden bees that drone (It saves me worry, and it hurts 'em none).

The only thing I'm wondering is when Some stretcher-men will stroll along my way?

It isn't much that's left of me, but then Where life is, hope is, so at least they say.

Well, if I'm spared I'll be the happy lad.

I tell you I won't envy any king.

I've stood the racket, and I'm proud and glad; I've had my crowning hour. Oh, War's the thing!

It gives us common, working chaps our chance, A taste of glory, chivalry, romance.

Ay, War, they say, is h.e.l.l; it's heaven, too.

It lets a man discover what he's worth.

It takes his measure, shows what he can do, Gives him a joy like nothing else on earth.

It fans in him a flame that otherwise Would flicker out, these drab, discordant days; It teaches him in pain and sacrifice Faith, fort.i.tude, grim courage past all praise.

Yes, War is good. So here beside my slain, A happy wreck I wait amid the din; For even if I perish mine's the gain... .

Hi, there, you fellows! WON'T you take me in?

Give me a f.a.g to smoke upon the way... .

We've taken La Boiselle! The h.e.l.l, you say!

Well, that would make a corpse sit up and grin... .

Lead on! I'll live to fight another day.

Faith

Since all that is was ever bound to be; Since grim, eternal laws our Being bind; And both the riddle and the answer find, And both the carnage and the calm decree; Since plain within the Book of Destiny Is written all the journey of mankind Inexorably to the end; since blind And mortal puppets playing parts are we:

Then let's have faith; good cometh out of ill; The power that shaped the strife shall end the strife; Then let's bow down before the Unknown Will; Fight on, believing all is well with life; Seeing within the worst of War's red rage The gleam, the glory of the Golden Age.

The Coward