SEA SPRAY ^ SMOKE DRIFT 



Short was the crisis of conflict soon over, 



Being too good (I suppose) to last long ; 

 Through them we cut, as the scythe cuts the 

 clover, 

 Batter'd and stain'd we emerged from their 

 throng. 



Some of our saddles were emptied, of course ; 

 To heaven (or elsewhere) Black Will had 

 been carried ! 

 Ned Sullivan mounted Will's riderless horse, 

 His mare being hurt, while ten seconds we 

 tarried. 



And then we re-formed, and went at them 

 once more. 

 And ere they had rightly closed up the old 

 track, 

 Webroke through thelanewehadopen'd before, 

 And as we went forward e'en so we came 

 back. 



Our numbers were few, and our loss far from 



small. 



They could fight, and besides, they were 



twenty to one ; 



154 



