Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
III. WarBay Billy
Frank Harrison Gassaway (d. 1923)’T
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.
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 column still.
Spurred up a general’s aide:
“That battery must silenced be!”
He cried, as past he sped.
Our colonel simply touched his cap,
And then, with measured tread,
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.
That hero gray and grim.
Right well we 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.
When, midst the storm of shell,
Our leader, with his sword upraised,
Beneath our bayonets fell.
And, as we bore him back, the foe
Set up a joyous yell.
And when the bugle said
“Up, charge again!” no man was there
But hung his doggèd head.
“We ’ve no one left to lead us now,”
The sullen soldiers said.
The colonel’s horse we spied,
Bay Billy with his trappings on,
His nostrils swelling wide,
As though still on his gallant back
The master sat astride.
That was of old his 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?”
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 heart of grace.
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 we captured every gun!
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.
Fell softly o’er the plain,
As though o’er man’s dread work of death
The angels wept again,
And drew night’s curtain gently round
A thousand beds of pain.
The ghastly rows between,—
All night with solemn step I paced
The torn and bloody green.
But who that fought in the big war
Such dread sights have not seen?
Sang in the merry skies,
As if to e’en the sleepers there
It bade awake, and rise!
Though naught but that last trump of all
Could ope their heavy eyes.
Stretched out the long brigade.
Trimly upon the furrowed field
The troops stood on parade,
And bravely mid the ranks were closed
The gaps the fight had made.
Were in their place that morn;
And Corporal Dick, who yester-noon
Stood six brave fellows on,
Now touched my elbow in the ranks,
For all between were gone.
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.
The last few names were said,
Across the field some missing horse
Toiled up the weary tread.
It caught the sergeant’s eye, and quick
Bay Billy’s name he read.
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!
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!”