O better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,

Set every threadbare sail,

And give her to the god of storms,

The lightning and the gale!

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

THE RED THREAD OF HONOR.

A.D. 1845.

TOLD TO THE AUTHOR BY THE LATE GENERAL SIR CHARLES JAMES NAPIER.

ELEVEN men of England

A breastwork charged in vain ;
Eleven men of England

Lie stripped, and gashed, and slain.
Slain; but of foes that guarded
Their rock-built fortress well,

Some twenty had been mastered,
When the last soldier fell.

Whilst Napier piloted his wondrous way
Across the sand-waves of the desert-sea ;

Then flashed at once, on each fierce clan, dismay,
Lord of their wild Truckee.1

1 A stronghold in the Desert, supposed to be inaccessible and impregnable.

These missed the glen to which their steps were

bent,

Mistook a mandate, from afar half heard,
And, in that glorious error, calmly went
To death without a word.

The robber-chief mused deeply,
Above those daring dead;

"Bring here," at length he shouted,
"Bring quick, the battle-thread.
Let Eblis blast forever

Their souls, if Allah will,

But we must keep unbroken

The old rules of the Hill.

66 Before the Ghiznee tiger

Leapt forth to burn and slay;

Before the holy Prophet

Taught our grim tribes to pray;

1

Before Secunder's 1 lances

Pierced through each Indian glen,

The mountain laws of honor

Were framed for fearless men.

1 Alexander.

66

Still, when a chief dies bravely,

We bind with green one wrist,

Green for the brave; for heroes
ONE crimson thread we twist.
Say ye, O gallant Hillmen,
For these whose life has fled,
Which is the fitting color,

The green one, or the red?"

"Our brethren, laid in honored graves, may wear Their green reward," each noble savage said; "To these, whom hawks and hungry wolves shall tear,

Who dares deny the red?"

Thus conquering hate, and steadfast to the right,
Fresh from the heart that haughty verdict came ;
Beneath a waning moon each spectral height
Rolled back its loud acclaim.

Once more the chief gazed keenly

Down on those daring dead;

From his good sword their heart's blood

Crept to that crimson thread.

Once more he cried: "The judgment,

Good friends, is wise and true;
But though the red be given,
Have we not more to do?

"These were not stirred by anger,
Nor yet by lust made bold;
Renown they thought above them,
Nor did they look for gold.
To them their leader's signal
Was as the voice of God;
Unmoved, and uncomplaining,
The path it showed, they trod.

"As, without sound or struggle, The stars unhurrying march, Where Allah's finger guides them, Through yonder purple arch; These Franks, sublimely silent, Without a quickened breath, Went, in the strength of duty, Straight to their goal of death.

“If I were now to ask you

To name our bravest man,
Ye all at once would answer,
They called him Mehrab Khan.