We were waiting for the signal
In our lines before Batoche;
Ready, eager, and expectant
For the grand and final rush.
For three days we had been fighting—
On the rebels’ pits we’d rained
A furious and pelting fire,
And our advance maintained.
All along our lines ’twas whispered
“We storm the pits to-morrow,”
And a thrill of valor swept our ranks,
Dispelling care and sorrow.
We laid the smoking rifle by
When the shades of night drew on,
And grouped about the camp-fire’s light
To await the morrow’s dawn.
And some sang songs of home and love,
And some of martial glory;
And merry laugh responsive came
To pun, or stirring story.
The sentries paced their lonely round;
All silent was the scene
Save for here and there a dropping shot
From pit or dark ravine.
The soldier sank to peaceful rest,
The earth his slumber-bed;
The night winds crooned a lullaby,
The stars beamed o’er his head.
And all, perhaps, were thinking then
Of loved ones far away—
Brave hearts, that ere the morrow’s eve
Should perish in the fray.
From Nova Scotia far they came,
Quebec, and Ontario;
Manitoba’s fearless sons were there,
Ready to face the foe.
All there to stamp rebellion out
And the grand “Old Flag” to save;
“A united empire” for us all,
And to traitor hordes a grave!
The thunder of the frowning gun
Roused up that soft May dawn;
The bugles blared the reveille
Beside the Saskatchewan;
And there was forming in “hot haste,”
Beside the flowing stream.
The sun shone on our gleaming steel
All peaceful and serene.
And Williams, with the Midlanders,
Formed on the left with cheers,
And Grassett on their right deployed
His Royal Grenadiers.
The valiant Ninetieth in support
To the right the line prolonged,
And Boulton, with his mounted men,
Near to their right wing thronged.
The Surveyors’ scouts moved to the right
To prolong the line again,
And Boulton’s mounted infantry
Formed near the open plain;
And French’s scouts held the extreme right,
Poised like eagles for their prey;
Montizambert with his guns moved up,
For a moment held at bay.
Howard and Rivers their gatling
Placed by the Ninetieth’s side,
And prepared to sweep the plain
With their missiles far and wide.
And down the stream the Northcote lay
With the Infantry School corps,
To upward move and draw the fire
Of the foe from either shore.
And bravely Major Smith performed
This trying duty that day,
Though fiercely assailed he sternly held
The wild western shore at bay.
A gallant corps, deserving well
Of our country and our Queen;
History records your daring deeds
On that far storied stream.
The infantry brigade was led
By the gallant Straubenzie,
Full of resource, with eagle eye
Safe vantage ground to see.
At the zareba Haughton stood,
Cool, intrepid under fire;
His men his spirit emulate
In chivalric desire.
And thus formed up that fearless line,
As steady as on parade;
The light of battle on each face—
Of such are true heroes made.
The signal at last is given,
The bugles ring out “advance”;
The general ’s in position;
We’re under his flashing glance.
With a ringing cheer we greet him,
That war-worn veteran gray,
The hero of a hundred fights
In strange lands far away.
His hand directed wise and well;
For him the heartfelt shout;
His strategy and deep resource
Put the rebel hordes to rout.
“Forward!” now along the line
Rings our leader’s fearless tone;
And with quick bursts of rousing cheers
We enter the fire zone.
And the Metis open upon us
From pit and dark ravine;
Pelting like fierce hail about us
Comes a deadly leaden stream.
We pause, and return upon them
Such a fire as shakes the hills;
Montizambert’s guns tear through them,
And our lines with confidence thrills.
Jarvis’s battery joins the left,
And thunders beside the stream;
And Howard’s gatling is raging—
From its lips the missiles scream.
’Twas dreadful, the roar and tumult,
But our men rise above fear;
Ha! the Midlanders and Grens rush on,
Winning the first line with a cheer.
“Forward, now, with the bayonet!”
Rings out along the whole line,
And a cheerful, responsive cry
Rose from a valor sublime.
Forward, now, dauntless Midlanders,
And brave Royal Grenadiers!
And, gallant Ninetieth, sweep the plain;
Ring out, ring out defiant cheers!
And, Boulton, with your mounted men,
Rush on the doomed rebels, too:
Ye ’re not the corps to pause nor shrink
When there’s daring work to do!
Ho, scouts! to the front; forward, too,
Rush like mad upon the foe;
A French leads on, ye need not doubt;
Strike with might a crushing blow!
Montizambert, let your guns rage,
And Howard’s gatling gun scream,
And rend the rebel pits and lines,
And shake the trembling stream!
The decisive moment had come—
Forward! forward! side by side;
“Charge home!” the general ordered,
With manly, confident pride.
And the ring of our flashing steel
Greeted his lionlike eye,
And we swept like a besom on
With a thrilling battle-cry.
Gallantly and swiftly onward
With a mighty rush we go,
And burst like a pent-up torrent
On the desperate fighting foe.
Like chaff by the wind we swept them
From pit and from dark ravine;
The bayonet was effectual,
And withering as a flame.
Aye, we struck the pits and ravines
In our fiery onward roll,
But not for a single moment
Was the charge beyond control.
Hand to hand we taught them a lesson
They ne’er will forget again,
And broken and beaten they fled
Over the wide death-strewn plain.
From line to line we pressed them,
Turning their right on our way;
Clearing their works with our lines of steel,
And thus deciding the day.
From every point we charged them,
Till Batoche lay at our feet;
The rebels were utterly ruined,
And our victory complete.
And we pulled their bunting down,
And hoisted the Old Flag again,
And a storm of heartfelt greeting
Rolled in thunder o’er the plain.
And we cheered for Queen and country,
And our chief we loved so well,
And silently dropped a tear
For those who in fighting fell.
Mournfully to the muffled drum,
At the smile of another dawn,
We put our gallant dead away
By the dark Saskatchewan;
And we wept as never before,
And silently marched away,
Leaving them there at peace and rest
Till dawn of the judgment day.
My country, forget thou them not,
Nor the close of that sad scene;
They dared their all for the flag they loved,
And died for country and Queen.
Revere, then, that hallowed place;
Their life was no idle dream;
Honor the brave dead far away
By the dark and storied stream.