214 DOYLE
XCVII
THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR
ELEVEN men of England
A breastwork charged in vain; Eleven men of England
Lie stripped, and gashed, and slain. Slain; but of foes that guarded
Their rock-built fortress well, Some twenty had been mastered,
When the last soldier fell.
Whilst Napier piloted his wondrous way
Across the sand-waves of the desert sea, Then flashed at once, on each fierce clan, dismay,
Lord of their wild Truckee. These missed the glen to which their steps were bent,
Mistook a mandate, from afar half heard, And, in that glorious error, calmly went To death without a word.
The robber-chief mused deeply
Above those daring dead; 'Bring here,' at length he shouted,
'Bring quick, the battle thread. Let Eblis blast for ever
Their souls, if Allah will : But WE must keep unbroken
The old rules of the Hill.
Before the Ghiznee tiger
Leapt forth to burn and slay;
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