Читать книгу In Good Company - Coulson Kernahan - Страница 13

Table of Contents

“ORDERED OUT”

In Memoriam: Roberts, F.M., V.C.

Died on Service, 1914

“When I was ordered out——”

Lord Roberts, in a letter to the writer.

Prouder to serve than to command was he:

“When I was ordered”—thus a soldier’s soul

Answered, as from the ranks, the muster roll,

When came the call: “England hath need of thee.”

At Duty’s bidding, not by Glory lured,

For peace, not war, he strove; and peace was his—

Not the base peace which more disastrous is

Than war, but peace abiding and assured.

Thereafter followed long, untroubled years,

Wherein some said: “See rise the star of peace,

The morn of Arbitration. Wars must cease.

Away with sword and shield—Millennium nears!”

“Keep shield to breast, keep bright your sword, and drawn!” Rang out his answer. “On the horizon’s rim I see great armies gather, and the dim, Grey mists of Armageddon’s bloody dawn!”

Few heeded, many scoffed, some merry grew,

And “Dotard!” cried, because, for England’s sake

For whom his son lay dead, he bade her wake,

And a great soldier spoke of what he knew.

Yet spoke—distasteful task!—against his will;

Death he had dared, but dared not silent be—

That were to England blackest treachery—

Wherefore he spoke: his voice is sounding still!

Even the while he spoke, the while they mocked

(With silent dignity their taunts were borne),

Europe, that laughing rose, as ’twere at morn,

At night, distraught, and in delirium rocked.

As the hung avalanche is suddenly hurled

Down the abyss, though but a pebble stirred,

So a crowned monster’s will, a Kaiser’s word,

Plunged into Armageddon half a world,

And Chaos was again. Crashed the blue skies

Above, as if to splinters. Was God dead?

Or deaf? or dumb? or reigned there, in His stead,

Only a devil in a God’s disguise?

Staggered and stunned, our England backward reeled

A moment. Then, magnificent, erect,

Flashed forth her sword, her ally to protect,

And over prostrate Belgium cast her shield.

Above the babel of voices, mists of doubt,

Rang forth his stern “To arms!” England to nerve;

Too old to fight, but not too old to serve,

Again he hears the call—is “ordered out.”

“Roberts!” the voice was Duty’s, arm’d and helm’d,

“To France! where India, greatly loyal, lands

Her stalwarts, and the bestial horde withstands

That raped and ravaged, burned and overwhelmed

“Heroic Belgium. Roberts, ’gainst the foe

No voice like thine can the swart Indians fire

To valour, and to loyalty inspire;

Roberts! to France!” Came answer calm: “I go.”

Nor once reproached: “I warned. You gave no heed,”

Nor pleaded fourscore years—“Ah, that I could!”

He who had England saved, an England would,

Only of England thought, in England’s need.

Then, where, on high, God captains legions bright

(On earth is Armageddon, and in hell—

May it not be?—Satan leads forth his fell

And fallen hosts, the heavens to storm and smite?)

Yea, from on high, from heaven’s supreme redoubt,

Came the last call of all, far-sounding, clear;

God spoke his name; he answered: “I am here.”

Stood to salute; again was “ordered out.”

From Camp to Camp he passed—beyond the sun’s

Red track, to where the immortal armies are,

Honoured of God, Hero of peace and war,

Amid the thunder-requiem of the guns.

C. K.