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xenithBeing at it's Remembrance Day, I often post a poem but I'm feeling uninspired this year. Instead something I came across recently, which isn't an account of a war battle at all. What is it about? I'm not saying, but if you can't tell, take a wild guess. You'll probably be right.
It's a chapter from The Call of the Southern Cross by John Sandes, that was serialised in the Mercury. This particular chapter appeared in January, 1915. Published as a stirring patriotic story toencourage enlistment stir up morale?
(If you actually read it & want to try & make sense of it, Syd & Tom are brothers who ended up on different side of the conflict.)
An irregular volley crashed from the stockade, and the advancing line of red-coats faltered momentarily.
A bugler began to sound the "Charge." But the call was never finished. A bullet knocked the boy over while the bugle was still at his lips.
"Forward the Fortieth." Syd heard the officer's confident shout and the cheers of the men running behind him. The diggers heard it, too, and poured in a heavy fire upon the troops advancing across the open ground.
"Steady, boys, steady. Reserve your fire, and mark your men. Pick the leaders first." It was Peter Lalor who spoke.
Several of the soldiers fell, but the advance continued, led by Captain Wise who ran in front of his men moving his sword.
"Come on, men! Come on! Forward the Fortieth." These were his last words. A bullet struck him, and he fell mortally wounded.
That maddened the troops. In the face of repeated volleys, they charged up the gently rising ground with fixed bayonets, cheering wildly. The defenders were already short of ammunition. Their fire slackened. Many of them had nothing to fire but pistols loaded with pebbles.
The cavalry and mounted police were galloping in from the south and east. The infantry were charging up the slope in front. Syd Verner realised that the end was not far off. He had lost sight of Con. Burke, but he could hear the ringing words of Lalor adjuring the men to stand fast.
Ha! The foremost files of the infantry had reached the outer barricade of the overturned carts, slabs, and rope entanglements. The soldiers scrambled over the barricade and attacked the stockade with their bare hands. They tore down the slabs and forced a breach. Half a dozen of them were inside the stockade already, bayonet in hand, and the diggers fell back in confusion, taking cover in the shallow holes with which the ground was pitted.
Syd Verner gritted his teeth and grasped his gun. He had fired his last shot. The gun was of no more use, except as a club. Well, he would die game, at any rate.
Through the gap in the slab he saw two of the stormers rushing at him. One of them was half-a-dozen paces in front of the other. The foremost came on with, glittering bayonet held low at the charge. The light of battle blazed in his eyes. He was burning to take vengeance for his fallen captain.
Syd seized his useless gun despairingly by the barrel and whirled it round his head. He gazed fixedly at the on rushing soldier with the bayonet. The soldier was coming straight for him. The bayonet was within a yard of his breast.
God! It was Tom!
Tom was completely possessed by the madness of battle, but he recognised Syd just in time and dropped his point to the ground, letting the bayonet fall from his hands.
Private Pym, the stormer, who was a few paces behind him, saw his corporal drop his bayonet by some inexplicable mischance. He also saw a digger apparently about to club the corporal with the stock of his gun. Private Pym brought his musket to the shoulder and aimed hastily at Syd. As he did so, Tom saw him, and once again, as so often in his boyhood's days, the impulse came over him to save "little Syd" from imminent danger.
Tom flung himself in front of Syd as Private Pym pulled the trigger, and the ball that was intended for the digger buried itself in the redcoat's side.
Almost at the same moment, a shot fired from one of the rifle pits, into which the diggers had retreated, took Private Pym in the mouth, killing him instantly.
As the redcoats charged through the breach intent on bayoneting the diggers in the rifle pits, a flying bullet hit Syd Verner in the shoulder, and he dropped beside Tom.
And so he did not see the trooper who climbed the diggers' flagstaff under a rain of balls, and tore down the diggers standard -— the silver stars upon the field of blue, the Southern Cross that had called the two brothers southward from their home. Syd was spared that last pang of disillusionment.
-End
It's a chapter from The Call of the Southern Cross by John Sandes, that was serialised in the Mercury. This particular chapter appeared in January, 1915. Published as a stirring patriotic story to
(If you actually read it & want to try & make sense of it, Syd & Tom are brothers who ended up on different side of the conflict.)
An irregular volley crashed from the stockade, and the advancing line of red-coats faltered momentarily.
A bugler began to sound the "Charge." But the call was never finished. A bullet knocked the boy over while the bugle was still at his lips.
"Forward the Fortieth." Syd heard the officer's confident shout and the cheers of the men running behind him. The diggers heard it, too, and poured in a heavy fire upon the troops advancing across the open ground.
"Steady, boys, steady. Reserve your fire, and mark your men. Pick the leaders first." It was Peter Lalor who spoke.
Several of the soldiers fell, but the advance continued, led by Captain Wise who ran in front of his men moving his sword.
"Come on, men! Come on! Forward the Fortieth." These were his last words. A bullet struck him, and he fell mortally wounded.
That maddened the troops. In the face of repeated volleys, they charged up the gently rising ground with fixed bayonets, cheering wildly. The defenders were already short of ammunition. Their fire slackened. Many of them had nothing to fire but pistols loaded with pebbles.
The cavalry and mounted police were galloping in from the south and east. The infantry were charging up the slope in front. Syd Verner realised that the end was not far off. He had lost sight of Con. Burke, but he could hear the ringing words of Lalor adjuring the men to stand fast.
Ha! The foremost files of the infantry had reached the outer barricade of the overturned carts, slabs, and rope entanglements. The soldiers scrambled over the barricade and attacked the stockade with their bare hands. They tore down the slabs and forced a breach. Half a dozen of them were inside the stockade already, bayonet in hand, and the diggers fell back in confusion, taking cover in the shallow holes with which the ground was pitted.
Syd Verner gritted his teeth and grasped his gun. He had fired his last shot. The gun was of no more use, except as a club. Well, he would die game, at any rate.
Through the gap in the slab he saw two of the stormers rushing at him. One of them was half-a-dozen paces in front of the other. The foremost came on with, glittering bayonet held low at the charge. The light of battle blazed in his eyes. He was burning to take vengeance for his fallen captain.
Syd seized his useless gun despairingly by the barrel and whirled it round his head. He gazed fixedly at the on rushing soldier with the bayonet. The soldier was coming straight for him. The bayonet was within a yard of his breast.
God! It was Tom!
Tom was completely possessed by the madness of battle, but he recognised Syd just in time and dropped his point to the ground, letting the bayonet fall from his hands.
Private Pym, the stormer, who was a few paces behind him, saw his corporal drop his bayonet by some inexplicable mischance. He also saw a digger apparently about to club the corporal with the stock of his gun. Private Pym brought his musket to the shoulder and aimed hastily at Syd. As he did so, Tom saw him, and once again, as so often in his boyhood's days, the impulse came over him to save "little Syd" from imminent danger.
Tom flung himself in front of Syd as Private Pym pulled the trigger, and the ball that was intended for the digger buried itself in the redcoat's side.
Almost at the same moment, a shot fired from one of the rifle pits, into which the diggers had retreated, took Private Pym in the mouth, killing him instantly.
As the redcoats charged through the breach intent on bayoneting the diggers in the rifle pits, a flying bullet hit Syd Verner in the shoulder, and he dropped beside Tom.
And so he did not see the trooper who climbed the diggers' flagstaff under a rain of balls, and tore down the diggers standard -— the silver stars upon the field of blue, the Southern Cross that had called the two brothers southward from their home. Syd was spared that last pang of disillusionment.
-End
