Volume 20 — The Leap For Life.

An Episode in the Career of Pres. MacMahon.

I.

In Algeria, with Bugeaud,

Harassed by a crafty foe,

Were the French, in eighteen hundred thirty-one;

Swarthy Arabs prowled about

Camp and outpost and redoubt

Crouching here and crawling there,

Lurking, gliding everywhere,

Tiger-hearted, under stars and under sun,

Seeking by some stealthy chance

Vengeance on the troops of France—

Vengeance fierce and fell, to sate

Savage rage and savage hate

For the deeds of desolation harshly done.

II.

On a rugged plateau,

Forty miles from headquarters of Marshal Bugeaud,

Lay an outpost, besieged by the merciless foe.

Day by day close and closer the Arab lines drew

Round the hard-beset French.

To dash out and flash through,

Like a wind-driven flame, they would dare, though a host

Hot from Hades stood there. But abandon the post?

Nay, they dare not do that; they were soldiers of France,

And dishonor should stain neither sabre nor lance;

They could bravely meet death, though like Hydra it came

Horror-headed and dire, but no shadow of shame

For a trust left to perish when danger drew nigh

Should e'er dim the flag waving free to the sky.

But soon came a terror more dread to the soul

Than war's wild thunder-crash when its battle-clouds roll,

And the heavens are shrouded from light, while a glare,

As of hell, breaks in hot, lurid streams on the air!

[pg 558]

It was Famine, grim-visaged and gaunt,

To the camp most appalling of foes—

Slow to strike, slow to kill, but full sure

As the swift headsman's deadliest blows.

O'er the ramparts it sullenly strode,

Glided darkly by tent and by wall,

Spreading awe wheresoever it went,

And the gloom of dismay over all;

Blighting valor that ne'er in war's red front had quailed,

Blanching cheeks that no tempest of strife e'er had paled.

III.

Then a council was held, and the commandant said

Direst peril was near; they must summon swift aid

From the Marshal, or all would be lost ere the sun

Of to-morrow went down in the west. Was there one

Who, to save the command and the honor of France,

Would ride forth with despatches? He ceased, and a glance

At the bronzed faces near showed that spirits to dare

Any desperate deed under heaven were there.

But the first to arise and respond was a youth

Whose brow bore nature's signet of courage and truth,

In whose eye valor shone calm and clear as a star

When the winds are at rest and the clouds fade afar.

Who was he that stood forth with such resolute air?

Young Lieutenant MacMahon, bold, free, débonnaire,

Never knight looked more gallant with shield and with spear,

Never war-nurtured chieftain less conscious of fear.

In his mien was the heroic flash of the Gaul,

With the fire of the Celt giving grandeur to all;

And he said, head erect, face with ardor aglow,

“I will ride with despatches to Marshal Bugeaud!”

IV.

It is night, and a stillness profound

Folds the camp; Arabs stealthily creep

Here and there in the moonlight beyond,

With ears eagerly bent for a sound

From the garrison, watchful and weak;

O'er the tents welcome night-breezes sweep,

Bringing balm unto brow and to cheek

Of men scorched by a pitiless sun

To a hue almost swarthy and deep

As the hue of the foe they would shun.

[pg 559]

V.

Stretching dimly afar,

Between slopes that are rugged and bare,

Half obscure under moonbeam and star,

Half revealed in the soft, misty air,

Runs a rude, broken way that will lead

Gallant rider and sure-footed steed

Westward forth to the camp of Bugeaud,

Forty miles over high land and low;

But the steed must be trusty and fleet,

And the bridle hand steady and keen

That shall guide him by rock and ravine,

Where each stride of the galloping feet

Must span dangers that slumber unseen;

And beyond, scarce a league to the west,

Yawns a treacherous chasm, dark and deep,

Where death lurks like a serpent asleep,

And the rider must ride at his best,

And his steed take the terrible leap

Like a winged creature cleaving the air,

Else a grim, ghastly corpse shall be there,

With perchance a steed stark on its breast,

And the moon shall look down with a stare

Where they lie in perpetual rest.

VI.

Now the silence is broken by neigh and by champ

And the clatter of hoofs, and away from the camp

Rides MacMahon, as gallant, as light, and as free

As the bridegroom who goes to his marriage may be.

With prance and with gallop and gay caracole

His swift steed bounds along, as if spurning control;

But the bridle-hand guides him unerring and true,

And each stroke of the hoofs is thew answering thew.

Through the moonlight they go, fading slowly from sight,

Till both rider and steed sink away in the night.

But they go not unheard, and they speed not unseen;

Dark eyes furtively watch, flashing fiercely and keen

From dim ambush around; then like spectres arise

White-robed figures that follow; the rider descries

Them on slope and in hollow, and knows they pursue.

But he fears not their craft or the deeds they may do,

For his brave steed is eager and strong, and the pace

Growing faster and faster each stride of the chase.

Now the slopes right and left seem alive with the foe

Gliding ghost-like along, but still stealthy and low,

[pg 560]

As wild creatures that crouch in a jungle; they think

To entrap him when back from the terrible brink

Of the chasm he returns, for his steed cannot leap

The dread gulf, and the rider will halt when its steep

Ragged walls ope before him, with death lying deep

In the darkness below; they will seize him, and take

From his heart, by fell torture of fagot and stake,

Every secret it holds; then his life-blood may flow,

But he never shall ride to the camp of Bugeaud.

VII.

Still unflinching and free through the moonlight he goes,

And each pulse with the hot flush of eagerness glows.

Now a glance at the path where his gallant steed flies,

Now a gleam at the weird, spectral forms that arise

On the dim, rugged slopes, then still onward and on,

Till he nears the abyss, and its gaping jaws yawn

On his sight; but the rider well knows it is there,

And his speed is soon cautiously checked to prepare

For the desperate leap; he must now put to proof

The true mettle beneath, for the slip of a hoof

Or a swerve on the brink will dash both into doom,

Where the sad stars shall watch o'er a cavernous tomb.

Girth and bridle and stirrup are felt, to be sure

That no flaw shall bring peril—and all is secure;

Then with eyes fixed before, and brow bent to the wind,

And one thought of the foe and his comrades behind,

And a low, earnest prayer that all heaven must heed,

He slacks bridle, plies spur, and gives head to his steed.

With a bound it responds, ears set back, nostrils wide,

And the rush of a thunder-bred storm in its stride!

Now the brink! now the leap! they are over! Hurrah!

Horse and rider are safe, and dash wildly away;

Not a slip, not a flinch, swift and sure as the flight

Of an eagle in mid-air they sweep through the night,

While the baffled foe glare in bewildered amaze

At the fast-flying prey speeding far from their gaze;

And the soft stars grow dim in the dawn's early glow

When MacMahon rides into the camp of Bugeaud.

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