A second time it came, still dim and strange,
A far "Hal oo-o-o Halloo-o-o!"
I wouldn't have believed such a ghostly cry
Could sound so clearly, too.
The sentries standing to the right and left
Neither spoke nor stirred.
They stood like stone. Can it be, I thought,
That nobody else has heard?
Then closer at hand, "Halloo-o-o! Halloo-o-o!"
Again the answering call.
"Quick!" said the sergeant as he pulled me down
In the shadow, close to the wall.
I dropped in a heap and none too soon;
For scarcely a rifle length away,
A man stood silent on the parados;
His face was a ghastly grey.
He carried a queer, old muzzle-loading gun;
The bayonet was dim with rust.
His top-boots were muddy, and his red uniform
Covered with blood and dust.
He waited for a moment, then waved his hand,
And they came in twos and threes:
Englishmen, Dutchmen, French cuirassiers,
Highlanders with great bare knees;
Pikemen, archers with huge crossbows,
Lancers and grenadiers;
Men in rusty armour, with battle-dented shields,
With axes and swords and spears.
Great blond giants with long, flowing hair
And limbs of enormous girth;
Yellow men with bludgeons, black men with knives,
From the wild, waste lands of the earth.
The one with the queer, old muzzle-loading gun
Jumped down with a light quick leap.
He was head and shoulders higher than the parapet,
Though the trench was six feet deep