He knew that like a tiger cub the kid would fight and die. . . .
Then Bill took one terrific lunge straight at the rat-faced hound,
He smashed him square upon the eye and sprawled him to the ground!
Then all the mine-guards grappled Bill, before he could resist
They overpowered him and snapped a bracelet on each wrist.
And Jurgot, coward that he was, when helped back to his place,
He held his battered ugly eye and struck Bill in the face. . . .
We saw Bill's muscles bulge and strain, we saw him reel and sway.
They dragged him to the bull-pen then and locked him safe away.
We saw the cruel bluish glint upon each army gun,
We felt the menace of their lead and cursed them, every one.
From this time on we had no word, no single trace of Bill,
And now our tents were clustered at the bottom of the hill.
But in about a week, I think , one grey and rainy day
A striker came into our camp and said, "Bill's got away!"
Soon came the guards to look for him, and each one armed to kill;
Scab-herders came and yellow-legs, and each one after Bill!
It always happens just this way whenever slaves rebel.
48
