Author: Madison Julius Cawein

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    We tightened stirrup; buckled rein;
    Looked to our saddle-girths again;
    Shook hands all round; then mounted.
    The gate swung wide: we said, "Good-bye."
    No time for talk had Bell and I.
    One cried, "God speed!" another, "Fly!"
    As out we rode to do or die,
    And every minute counted.
    The trail, the buffaloes had worn,
    Stretched broad before us through the corn
    And cane with which it blended.
    We knew for miles around the gate
    Hid Indian guile and Tory hate.
    There was no time to hesitate.
    We galloped on. We spurred like Fate,
    As morn broke red and splendid.
    No rifle cracked. No arrow whirred.
    Above us piped a forest bird,
    Then two and three together.
    We 'd reached the woods. And still no shout
    Of all the wild Wyandotte rout
    And Shawanese had yet rung out:
    But now and then an Indian scout
    Flashed here and there a feather.
    We rode expecting death each stride
    From fallen tree or thicket side,
    Where, snake-like, they could huddle:
    And well we knew that renegade,
    The blood-stained Girty, only stayed
    His hate awhile before he played
    His hand: that Fiend, who had betrayed
    The pioneers of Ruddle.
    And when an arrow grazed my hair
    I was not startled; did not care;
    But rode with rifle ready.
    A whoop rang out beyond a ford
    Then spawned the wood a yelling horde
    Of devils, armed with tomahawk
    And gun. I raised my flintlock's stock
    And let 'em have it steady.
    Tom followed me. And for a mile
    We matched our strength with redskin guile:
    And often I have wondered
    How we escaped. I lost my gun:
    And Tom, whose girth had come undone,
    Rode saddleless. . . . The summer sun
    Was high when into Lexington,
    With flying manes we thundered.
    Too late. For Todd at break of day
    Had left for Hoy's; decoyed, they say,
    By some reported story
    Of new disaster. Bryan's needs
    Cried"On!" Although we had done deeds,
    We must do more, whatever speeds.
    We had no time to rest our steeds,
    Whose panting flanks were gory.
    Again the trail; rough; often barred
    By rocks and trees. Oh, it was hard
    To keep our souls from sinking:
    But thoughts of those we 'd left behind
    Gave strength to muscle and to mind
    To help us on on, through the blind
    Deep woods, where often we would find
    Our hearts of loved ones thinking.
    The hot stockade. No water left.
    The night attack. All hope bereft
    The powder-grimed defender.
    The warwhoop and the groan of pain.
    All night the slanting arrow-rain
    Of fire-brands from the corn and cane:
    The fierce defense, but all in vain:
    And then, at last, surrender.
    But not for Bryan's! No! Too well
    Must they remember what befell
    At Ruddle's and take warning. . . .
    And like two madmen, dust and sweat,
    We rode with faces forward set,
    And came to Boone's. The sun was yet
    An hour from noon. . . . We had not let
    Our horses rest since morning.
    Here Ellis heard our news: his men
    Around him, back we turned again,
    And like a band of lions
    That leap some lioness to aid,
    Of death and torture unafraid,
    We charged the Indian ambuscade
    And through a storm of bullets made
    Our entrance into Bryan's.
    And that is all I have to tell.
    No more the Huron's hideous yell
    Whoops to assault and slaughter.
    Perhaps to us some praise is due:
    But we are men, accustomed to
    Face danger, which is nothing new.
    The women did far more for you,
    Risking their lives for water.

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Type of Poem: Narrative Poem

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: The poem presents a vivid narrative of a perilous journey and a fierce battle, imbued with themes of courage, determination, and the harsh realities of frontier life. It's structured as a dramatic monologue, with the speaker recounting a tale of life-or-death urgency and suspense. The tone is gritty and stoic, reflecting the protagonist's acceptance of the dangers faced.

The use of rhyme and rhythm gives the poem a galloping pace, echoing the urgency and momentum of the riders. The language is vivid, painting a clear image of the perilous journey and the looming threat. The poet uses repetition to underscore the urgency and danger the protagonists face, with phrases like "no time to hesitate" and "every minute counted". This repetition amplifies the sense of urgency and danger.

The poem also makes effective use of contrast, particularly in the peaceful imagery of the natural world juxtaposed against the violence and danger of the journey. This contrast serves to heighten the tension and emphasize the harsh realities of frontier life.

The poem concludes with a tribute to the unsung heroes of frontier life, the women who also risked their lives in the struggle for survival. This unexpected shift in focus adds depth to the poem, offering a broader perspective on the challenges faced and sacrifices made in this harsh environment. It underscores the collective struggle for survival and pays tribute to the bravery of all, not just the warriors on the battlefield.