Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MCILRATH OF MALATE, by JOHN JEROME ROONEY


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MCILRATH OF MALATE, by                    
First Line: Yes, yes, my boy, there's no mistake
Last Line: And valor claimed her own!
Subject(s): Manila, Philippines; Patriotism; Spanish-american War (1898)


YES, yes, my boy, there's no mistake,
You put the contract through!
You lads with Shafter, I'll allow,
Were heroes tried and true;

But don't forget the men who fought
About Manila Bay,
And don't forget brave McIlrath
Who died at Malate.

The night was black, save where the forks
Of tropic lightning ran,
When, with a long deep thunder-roar,
The typhoon storm began.

Then, suddenly above the din,
We heard the steady bay
Of volleys from the trenches where
The Pennsylvanias lay.

The Tenth, we thought, could hold their own
Against the feigned attack,
And, if the Spaniards dared advance
Would pay them doubly back.

But soon we marked the volleys sink
Into a scattered fire --
And now we heard the Spanish guns
Boom nigher yet and nigher!

Then, like a ghost, a courier
Seemed past our picket tossed,
With wild hair streaming in his face --
"We're lost -- we're lost -- we're lost!"

"Front, front -- in God's name -- front!" he cried:
"Our ammunition 's gone!"
He turned a face of dazed dismay --
And through the night sped on!

"Men, follow me!" cried McIlrath,
Our acting sergeant then;
And when he gave the word he knew
He gave the word to men!

Twenty there -- not one man more --
But down the sunken road
We dragged the guns of Battery H,
Nor even stopped to load!

Sudden, from the darkness poured
A storm of Mauser hail --
But not a man there thought to pause,
Nor any man to quail!

Ahead, the Pennsylvanias' guns
In scattered firing broke;
The Spanish trenches, red with flame,
In fiercer volleys spoke!

Down with a rush our twenty came --
The open field we passed --
And in among the hard-pressed Tenth
We set our feet at last!

Up, with a leap, sprang McIlrath,
Mud-spattered, worn and wet,
And, in an instant, there he stood
High on the parapet!

"Steady, boys! we've got 'em now --
Only a minute late!
It's all right, lads -- we've got 'em whipped --
Just give 'em volleys straight!"

Then, up and down the parapet
With head erect he went,
As cool as when he sat with us
Beside our evening tent!

Not one of us, close sheltered there
Down in the trench's pen,
But felt that we would rather die
Than shame or grieve him then!

The fire so close to being quenched
In panic and defeat,
Leaped forth, by rapid volleys sped,
In one long deadly sheet!

A cheer went up along the line
As breaks the thunder-call --
But, as it rose, great God, we saw
Our gallant sergeant fall!

He sank into our outstretched arms
Dead -- but immortal grown;
And Glory brightened where he fell,
And valor claimed her own!





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