And half of the rest of us maim'd for life In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; stark and cold, And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent ; And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; But Sir Richard cried in his English pride: "We have fought such a fight for a day and a night As may never be fought again! We have won great glory, my men! And a day less or more At sea or ashore, We die—does it matter when? Sink me the ship, Master Gunner—sink her, split her in twain ! Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!" XII And the gunner said, "Ay, ay," but the seamen made reply: "We have children, we have wives, And the Lord hath spared our lives. We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go; We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow." And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe. XIII And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then, Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last, And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace; But he rose upon their decks, and he cried: "I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true; I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do. XIV And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true, And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap That he dared her with one little ship and his English few; 'And the water began to heave and the weather to moan, And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew, Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags, And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy of Spain, And the little Revenge herself went down by the island Wailing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea— And Willy's voice in the wind, "O mother, come out to me!" Why should he call me to-night, when he knows that I cannot go? For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares at the snow. We should be seen, my dear; they would spy us out of the town. The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the down, When I cannot see my own hand, but am led by the creak of the chain, And grovel and grope for my son till I find myself drenched with the rain. Anything fallen again? nay—what was there left to fall? I have taken them home, I have number'd the bones, I have hidden them all. What am I saying? and what are you? do you come as a spy? Falls? what falls? who knows? As the tree falls so must it lie. Who let her in? how long has she been? you—what have you heard? Why did you sit so quiet? you never have spoken a word. Ah—you, that have lived so soft, what should you know of the night, The blast and the burning shame and the bitter frost and the fright? I have done it, while you were asleep—you were only made for the day. I have gather'd my baby together—and now you may go your way. Nay—for it 's kind of you, madam, to sit by an old dying wife. But say nothing hard of my boy, I have only an hour of life. I kiss'd my boy in the prison, before he went out to die. They dared me to do it," he said, and he never has told me a lie. I whipped him for robbing an orchard once when he was but a child— "The farmer dared me to do it," he said; he was always so wild And idle—and could n't be idle—my Willy—he never could rest. The King should have made him a soldier, he would have been one of his best. But he lived with a lot of wild mates, and they never would let him be good; They swore that he dare not rob the mail, and he swore that he would; And he took no life, but he took one purse, and when all was done He flung it among his fellows—"1'll none of it," said my son. I came into court to the judge and the lawyers. I told them my tale, God's own truth—but they kill'd him, they kill'd him for robbing the mail. They hanged him in chains for a show—we had always borne a good name— To be hanged for a thief—and then put away—is n't that enough shame? Dust to dust—low down—let us hide! but they set him so high That all the ships of the world could stare at him, pass ing by. God 'll pardon the hell-black raven and horrible fowls of the air, But not the black heart of the lawyer who kill'd him and hang'd him there. And the jailer forced me away. I had bid him my last good-bye; They had fasten'd the door of his cell. "O mother!" I heard him cry. I could n't get back tho' I tried, he had something further to say, And now I never shall know it. The jailer forced me away. Then since I could n't but hear that cry of my boy that was dead, They seized me and shut me up: they fasten'd me down on my bed. "Mother, O mother!"--he call'd in the dark to me year after year— They beat me for that, they beat me—you know that I could n't but hear; And then at the last they found I had grown so stupid and still They let me abroad again—but the creatures had worked their will. Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my bone was left— I stole them all from the lawyers—and you, will you call it a theft?— My baby, the bones that had suck'd me, the bones that had laughed and had cried— Theirs? O, no! they are mine—not theirs—they had moved in my side. Do you think I was scared by the bones? I kiss'd 'em, I buried 'em all— I can't dig deep, I am old—in the night by the churchyard wall. My Willy '11 rise up whole when the trumpet of judgment '11 sound, But I charge you never to say that I laid him in holy ground. They would scratch him up—they would hang him again on the cursed tree. Sin? O, yes, we are sinners, I know—let all that be, men— "Full of compassion and mercy, the Lord"—let me hear it again; "Full of compassion and mercy—long-suffering." O, yes! Yes, For the lawyer is born but to murder—the Saviour lives but to bless. |