Chapter 14

"But now our baccy's all give out The men can't have their smoke, And so they're cross; why even Ned Won't play with me, and joke!

"And the big colonel said to-day-- I hate to hear him swear-- 'I'd give a leg for a good smoke Like the Yanks have over there.'

"And so I thought when beat the drum, And the big guns were still, I'd creep beneath the tent, and come Out here across the hill.

"And beg, good Mr. Yankee-men, You'd give me some Long Jack; Please do, when we get some again, I'll surely bring it back.

"And so I came; for Ned, says he, 'If you do what you say, You'll be a general yet, maybe, And ride a prancing bay.'"

We brimmed her tiny apron o'er,-- You should have heard her laugh, As each man from his scanty store Shook out a generous half.

To kiss the little mouth stooped down A score of grimy men, Until the sergeant's husky voice Said "'Tention, squad?" and then,

We gave her escort till good-night The little waif we bid, Then watched her toddle out of sight, Or else 'twas tears that hid.

Her baby form nor turned about, A man nor spoke a word, Until at length a far faint shout Upon the wind we heard,

We sent it back, and cast sad eyes Upon the scene around, That baby's hand had touched the ties That brother's once had bound.

That's all, save when the dawn awoke: Again the work of hell, And through the sullen clouds of smoke The screaming missiles fell.

Our colonel often rubbed his glass, And marvelled much to see, Not a single shell that whole day fell In the camp of Battery B.

THE DANDY FIFTH.

BY F.H. GASSAWAY.

'Twas the time of the working men's great strike, When all the land stood still At the sudden roar from the hungry mouths That labour could not fill; When the thunder of the railroad ceased, And startled towns could spy A hundred blazing factories Painting each midnight sky.

Through Philadelphia's surging streets Marched the brown ranks of toil, The grimy legions of the shops, The tillers of the soil; White-faced militia-men looked on, And women shrank with dread; 'Twas muscle against money then-- 'Twas riches against bread.

Once, as the mighty mob tramped on, A carriage stopped the way, Upon the silken seat of which A young patrician lay. And as, with haughty glance, he swept Along the jeering crowd, A white-haired blacksmith in the ranks Took off his cap and bowed.

That night the Labour League was met, And soon the chairman said: "There hides a Judas in our midst; One man who bows his head, Who bends the coward's servile knee When capital rolls by." "Down with him! Kill the traitor cur!" Rang out the savage cry.

Up rose the blacksmith, then, and held Erect his head of grey-- "I am no traitor, though I bowed To a rich man's son to-day; And though you kill me as I stand-- As like you mean to do-- I want to tell you a story short, And I ask you'll hear me through.

"I was one of those who enlisted first, The old flag to defend, With Pope and Hallick, with 'Mac' and Grant, I followed to the end; And 'twas somewhere down on the Rapidan, When the Union cause looked drear, That a regiment of rich young bloods Came down to us from here.

"Their uniforms were by tailors cut, They brought hampers of good wine; And every squad had a nigger, too, To keep their boots in shine; They'd nought to say to us dusty 'vets,' And through the whole brigade, We called them the kid-gloved Dandy Fifth When we passed them on parade.

"Well, they were sent to hold a fort The Rebs tried hard to take, 'Twas the key of all our line which naught While it held out could break, But a fearful fight we lost just then, The reserve came up too late; And on that fort, and the Dandy Fifth, Hung the whole division's fate.

"Three times we tried to take them aid, And each time back we fell, Though once we could hear the fort's far guns Boom like a funeral knell; Till at length Joe Hooker's corps came up, An' then straight through we broke; How we cheered as we saw those dandy coats Still back of the drifting smoke.

"With the bands at play and the colours spread We swarmed up the parapet, But the sight that silenced our welcome shout I shall never in life forget. Four days before had their water gone-- They bad dreaded that the most-- The next their last scant rations went, And each man looked a ghost,

"As he stood, gaunt-eyed, behind his gun, Like a crippled stag at bay, And watched starvation--but not defeat-- Draw nearer every day. Of all the Fifth, not four-score men Could in their places stand, And their white lips told a fearful tale, As we grasped each bloodless hand.

"The rest in the stupor of famine lay, Save here and there a few In death sat rigid against the guns, Grim sentinels in blue; And their Col'nel, _he_ could not speak nor stir, But we saw his proud eye thrill As he simply glanced at the shot-scarred staff Where the old flag floated still!

"Now, I hate the tyrants who grind us down, While the wolf snarls at our door, And the men who've risen from us--to laugh At the misery of the poor; But I tell you, mates, while this weak old hand I have left the strength to lift, It will touch my cap to the proudest swell Who fought in the Dandy Fifth!"

"BAY BILLY."

BY F.H. GASSAWAY.

'Twas the last fight at Fredericksburg-- Perhaps the day you reck-- Our boys, the Twenty-second Maine, Kept Early's men in check. Just where Wade Hampton boomed away The fight went neck and neck.

All day we held the weaker wing, And held it with a will; Five several stubborn times we charged The battery on the hill, And five times beaten back, re-formed, And kept our columns still.

At last from out the centre fight Spurred up a general's aid. "That battery _must_ silenced be!" He cried, as past he sped. Our colonel simply touched his cap, And then, with measured tread,

To lead the crouching line once more The grand old fellow came. No wounded man but raised his head And strove to gasp his name, And those who could not speak nor stir "God blessed him" just the same.

For he was all the world to us, That hero grey and grim; Right well he knew that fearful slope We'd climb with none but him, Though while his white head led the way We'd charge hell's portals in.

This time we were not half-way up, When, 'midst the storm of shell, Our leader, with his sword upraised, Beneath our bay'nets fell; And, as we bore him back, the foe Set up a joyous yell.

Our hearts went with him. Back we swept, And when the bugle said, "Up, charge, again!" no man was there But hung his dogged head. "We've no one left to lead us now," The sullen soldiers said.

Just then, before the laggard line, The colonel's horse we spied-- Bay Billy, with his trappings on, His nostrils swelling wide, As though still on his gallant back His master sat astride.

Right royally he took the place That was his old of wont, And with a neigh, that seemed to say, Above the battle's brunt, "How can the Twenty-second charge If I am not in front?"

Like statues we stood rooted there, And gazed a little space; Above that floating mane we missed The dear familiar face; But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire, And it gave us hearts of grace.

No bugle-call could rouse us all As that brave sight had done; Down all the battered line we felt A lightning impulse run; Up, up the hill we followed Bill, And captured every gun!

And when upon the conquered height Died out the battle's hum; Vainly 'mid living and the dead We sought our leader dumb; It seemed as if a spectre steed To win that day had come.

At last the morning broke. The lark Sang in the merry skies, As if to e'en the sleepers there It said awake, arise!-- Though naught but that last trump of all Could ope their heavy eyes.

And then once more, with banners gay, Stretched out the long brigade; Trimly upon the furrowed field The troops stood on parade, And bravely 'mid the ranks we closed The gaps the fight had made.

Not half the Twenty-second's men Were in their place that morn, And Corp'ral Dick, who yester-morn Stood six brave fellows on, Now touched my elbow in the ranks, For all between were gone.

Ah! who forgets that dreary hour When, as with misty eyes, To call the old familiar roll The solemn sergeant tries-- One feels that thumping of the heart As no prompt voice replies.

And as in falt'ring tone and slow The last few names were said, Across the field some missing horse Toiled up with weary tread. It caught the sergeant's eye, and quick Bay Billy's name was read.

Yes! there the old bay hero stood, All safe from battle's harms, And ere an order could be heard, Or the bugle's quick alarms, Down all the front, from end to end, The troops presented arms!

Not all the shoulder-straps on earth Could still our mighty cheer. And ever from that famous day, When rang the roll-call clear, Bay Billy's name was read, and then The whole line answered "Here!"

THE OLD VETERAN.

BY BAYARD TAYLOR.

An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came, He sought the Chief who led him on many a field of fame-- The Chief who shouted "Forward!" where'er his banner rose, And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes.

"Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, "The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side? Have you forgotten Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane? 'Tis true I'm old and pensioned, but I want to fight again."

"Have I forgotten?" said the Chief: "my brave old soldier, no! And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; But you have done your share, my friend; you're crippled, old, and gray, And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day."

"But, General," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, "The very men who fought with us, they say, are traitors now; They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, white and blue, And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true."

"I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun, To get the range of traitors' hearts, and prick them one by one. Your Minie rifles and such arms, it ain't worth while to try; I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my powder dry"

"God bless you, comrade!" said the Chief,--"God bless your loyal heart! But younger men are in the field, and claim to have a part; They'll plant our sacred banner firm, in each rebellious town, And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it down!"

"But, General!"--still persisting, the weeping veteran cried, "I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide; And some you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least can I; So give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die!"

"If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in command Put me upon the ramparts with the flag-staff in my hand: No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shell may fly, I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die!"

"I'm ready, General; so you let a post to me be given, Where Washington can look at me, as he looks down from Heaven, And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General Wayne,-- 'There stands old Billy Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane!'"

"And when the fight is raging hot, before the traitors fly, When shell and ball are screeching, and bursting in the sky, If any shot should pierce through me, and lay me on my face, My soul would go to Washington's, and not to Arnold's place!"

SANTA CLAUS.

BY ALFRED H. MILES.

The bells were ringing their cheerful chimes In the old grey belfry tow'r, The choir were singing their carols betimes In the wintry midnight hour, The waits were playing with eerie drawl "The mistletoe hung in the castle hall," And the old policeman was stomping his feet As he quiver'd and shiver'd along on his beat;

The snow was falling as fast as it could O'er city and hamlet, forest and wood, And Jack Frost, busy with might and main, Was sketching away at each window-pane;

Father Christinas was travelling fast, Mid the fall of the snow and the howl of the blast, With millions of turkeys for millions to taste, And millions of puddings all tied to his waist, And millions of mince-pies that scented the air, To cover the country with Christmas fare,--

When over the hills, from far away, Came Santa Claus with the dawn of day; He rode on a cycle, as seasons do, With Christmas behind him a-tandem too; His pockets were bigger than sacks from the mill-- The Soho Bazaar would not one of them fill, And the Lowther Arcade and the good things that stock it Would travel with ease in his tiniest pocket. And these were all full of delights and surprises For gifts and rewards and for presents and prizes.

Little knick-knackeries, beautiful toys For mas and papas and for girls and for boys There were dolls of all sorts, there were dolls of all sizes, In comical costumes and funny disguises,-- Dolls of all countries and dolls of all climes, Dolls of all ages and dolls of all times; Soldier dolls, sailor dolls, red, white and blue; Khaki dolls, darkie dolls, trusty and true; Curio Chinese and quaint little Japs, Nid-nodding at nothing, the queer little chaps; Bigger dolls, nigger dolls woolly and black, With never a coat or a shirt to their back. Dolls made of china and dolls made of wood, Dutch dolls and such dolls, and all of them good; Dolls of fat features, and dolls with more pointed ones, Dolls that were rigid and dolls that were jointed ones, Dolls made of sawdust and dolls made of wax, Dolls that go "bye-bye" when laid on their backs, Dolls that are silent when nobody teases them, Dolls that will cry when one pinches or squeezes them; Dolls with fair faces and eyes bright of hue, The black and the brunette, the blond and the blue; Bride dolls and bridegrooms, the meekest of spouses; And hundreds and thousands of pretty dolls' houses. And as for the furniture--think for a day He brought all you'll think of and all I could say!

And then there were playthings and puzzles and games. With all kinds of objects and all sorts of names,-- Musical instruments, boxes and glasses, And fiddles and faddles of various classes; Mandolins ready for fingers and thumbs, And banjos and tambourines, trumpets and drums.

Noah's arks, animals, reptiles and mammals, Mammoths and crocodiles, cobras and camels; Lions and tigers as tame as a cat, Eagles and vultures as blind as a bat; Bears upon bear-poles and monkeys on sticks, Foxes in farmyards at mischievous tricks; Monkeys on dogs too, and dogs too on bicycles, Clumsy old elephants triking on tricycles; Horses on rockers and horses on wheels, But never a one that could show you his heels.

There were tops for the whip, there were tops for the string, There were tops that would hum, there were tops that would sing; There were hoops made of iron and hoops made of wood, And hoop-sticks to match them, as strong and as good; There were books full of pictures and books full of rhymes, There were songs for the seasons and tales for the times; Pen-knives and pen-wipers, pencils and slates, Wheelers and rockers and rollers and skates; Bags full of marbles and boxes of bricks, And bundles and bundles of canes and of sticks.

There were "prams" for the girls, there were "trams" for the boys, And thousands of clever mechanical toys,-- Engines and carriages running on rails, Steamers and sailers that carry the mails; Flags of all nations, and ships for all seas-- The Red Sea, the Black Sea, or what sea you please-- That tick it by clockwork or puff it by steam, Or outsail the weather or go with the stream; Carriages drawn by a couple of bays, 'Buses and hansoms, and waggons and drays, Coaches and curricles, rallis and gigs-- All sorts of wheelers, with all sorts of rigs.

Cricket and croquet, and bat, trap, and ball, And tennis--but really the list would appal. There were balls for the mouth, there were balls for the feet, There were balls you could play with and balls you could eat, There were balls made of leather and balls made of candy, Balls of all sizes, from footballs to brandy.

And then came the boxes of curious games, With all sorts of objects and all sorts of names,-- Lotto and Ludo, the Fox and the Geese, Halma and Solitaire--all of a piece; Go-bang and Ringolette, Hook-it and Quoits, For junior endeavours and senior exploits; And Skittles and Spellicans, Tiddle-de-winks-- But one mustn't mention the half that one thinks; Chessmen and draughtsmen, and hoards upon hoards Of chess and backgammon and bagatelle boards; And boxes of dominoes, boxes of dice, And boxes of tricks you can try in a trice.

And Santa Claus went with his wonderful load Through street after street, and through road after road, And crept through the keyholes--or some other way; He got down the chimneys--so some people say: But, one way or other, he managed to creep Where all the good children were lying asleep; And when he got there, all the stockings in rows That were ready hung up he cramm'd full to the toes With the many good things he had brought with the day From over the hills and far away.

And Santa Claus smiled as he look'd on the faces Of all the good children asleep in their places, And laugh'd out so loud as to almost awaken One sharp little fellow who great pains had taken; His socks were too small--for he'd hopes of great riches-- So, tying the legs, he had hung up his breeches! And surely the tears almost came in his eyes As he open'd a letter with joy and surprise That he took from a stocking hung up to a bed, And surely they fell as the letter he read; 'Twas a little girl's hand, and said, "Dear Santer Claws, Don't fordit baby's sox--they's hung up to the drors."

But wasn't there laughter and shouting and noise From the boys and the girls, and the girls and the boys, When they counted the good things the good Saint had brought them, And laid them all out on their pillows to sort them. Such wonderful voices, such wonderful lungs, It was just like another confusion of tongues, A Babel of chatter from master and miss-- And I don't think they've left off from that day to this.

Ah! good little people, if thus you shall find Rich treasures provided, be grateful and mind, In the midst of your pleasures, a moment to pause, And think about Christmas and good Santa Claus!

Remember, in weary and desolate places, With tears in their eyes and with grime on the faces, The children of poverty, sorrow and weep, With little to cheer them awake or asleep; And remember that you who have much and to spare, Can brighten their eyes and can lighten their cares, If you take the example and work to the cause Of your own benefactor, the good Santa Claus.

You need not climb chimneys in tempest and storm, Nor creep into keyholes in fairy-like form; You've a magical key for the dreariest place In the light of your eyes and the smile of your face. And remember the joy that you give to another Will gladden your own heart as well as the other; For troubles are halved when together we bear them, And pleasures are doubled whenever we share them.

THE IMPERIAL RECITER

"And we are peacemen, also; crying for Peace, peace at any price--though it be war! We must live free, at peace, or each man dies With death-clutch fast for ever on the prize." --GERALD MASSEY.

The Editor's thanks are due to the Rev. A. Frewen Aylward for the use of the poem "Adsum," and to Messrs. Harmsworth Bros, for permission to include Mr. Rudyard Kipling's phenomenal success, "The Absent-Minded Beggar," in this collection; also to Messrs. Harper and Brothers, of New York, for special permission to copy from "Harper's Magazine" the poem "Sheltered," by Sarah Orme Jewett; to Messrs. Chatto and Windus for permission to use "Mrs. B.'s Alarms," from "Humorous Stories," by the late James Payn; to Miss Palgrave and to Messrs. Macmillan and Co., for the use of "England Once More," by the late F. T. Palgrave; to Mr. Clement Scott for permission to include "Sound the Assembly" and "The Midnight Charge"; to Mr. F. Harald Williams and Mr. Gerald Massey for generous and unrestricted use of their respective war poems, and to numerous other authors and publishers for the use of copyright pieces.

PREFATORY.

There is a true and a false Imperialism. There is the Imperialism of the vulgar braggart, who thinks that one Englishman can fight ten men of any other nationality under the sun; and there is the Imperialism of the man of thought, who believes in the destiny of the English race, who does not shrink from the responsibilities of power from "craven fear of being great," and who holds that an Englishman ought to be ready to face _twenty_ men if need be, of any nationality, including his own, rather than surrender a trust or sacrifice a principle. The first would base empire on vanity and brute force, inspired by the vulgar reflection--

"We've got the men, we've got the ships, we've got the money too."

The second does not seek empire, but will not shrink from the responsibilities of its growth, and in all matters of international dispute believes with Solomon, that "He that is slow to wrath is of great understanding," and in all matters of international relationship that "Righteousness exalteth a nation."

The rapid and solid growth of the British Empire has been due largely to two characteristics of its rule--the integrity of its justice and the soundness of its finance. Native races everywhere appeal with confidence to the justice of our courts, and find in the integrity of our fiscal system relief from the oppressive taxation of barbarous governments.

These blessings we owe, and with them the strength of our empire, not to the force of our arms in the field, but to the subordination of the military to the civil spirit, both in peace and war.