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The Ballad of Dick King
and Other Poems (1949)
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The ballad of Dick King
The moonlight glints upon the sand where once a longboat lay
What time Da Gama touched the shore on Christ's own cradle day.
Then nothing save the strident frogs or the grey monkey's screech
Disturbed the quiet evening calm beyond the breakers' reach -
Then the green-shadowed forest glades, where twining lilies grow,
Held the soft silence of the night whence peace and comfort flow,
For no man's hate or hurtful pride, with harsh, discordant cry
Of bitter conflict, jarred upon that calm serenity.
Now shines the full moon on a scene less calm than on that day
When on the yet unchristened shore Da Gama's longboat lay.
A wagon-walled, ditch-circled camp that looks down on the sea,
Still stands unconquered, and proclaims its faith defiantly.
For many days besieged by foes that blocked the westward way,
The tented beach-camp stood uncurbed and boldly firm at bay.
Yet every setting sun increased the hazard of the night,
And every dawn brought new-born fears that faith alone could fight -
The faith that through defeat and doubt still kindled fortitude;
The faith that braved the frustrate hope and famine's grip withstood;
That through the humid tropic night watched the increscent moon
Whose languid radiance shone upon the forest-bordered dune,
And reckoned one less day of strain before it heard the roar
Of the relieving frigate's gun borne on die wind off-shore.
The stinging grey mist drives ashore from out the Indian sea;
It dims the dunes, it shrouds the bluff, and blots out ridge and lea;
It makes a winter drabness steal o'er where the lager lies
And sodden tentcloths' bullet-scars look up to leaden skies.
Still Durban's camp, the frontier camp, a forlorn outpost stands,
An outpost set to guard the door to strange, untrodden lands,
And each who mans it scans the mist with anxious, longing eye
As if to seek beyond that shroud an answer to his cry.
O, who will ride me a reckless ride, a trackless ride, a crazy ride,
Through woods that veil the stars above, through kloofs where leopards play?
O, who will gallop to Grahamstown, the frontier town where settlers bide,
To carry a call from them that guard the camp of Durban bay?
O, who will venture the wildest chance, with losing odds, with perils blent,
Through tangled grass and twisting glade, and darkening wood, and treacherous swamp,
With ever-tightening tendons strained, with beating heart and breath half spent,
And ride for help to save the few that hold the outpost camp?
There's one will ride that reckless ride, that trackless ride, that daring ride,
Across the sodden, slimy swamps and rivers rushing down,
Through woods that veil the stars above, where pythons glide and leopards hide,
And carry the call for help to those that bide in Grahamstown.
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There's one will ride that hopeless ride, that weary ride, that death-game
With foes in every forest glade on look-out night and day.
There's one will gallop to Grahamstown, the settlers' town where soldiers
And carry that call for help to hold the camp of Durban bay.
From the ‘Mazeppa's’ deck that night,
A brave and kindly man looked down -
One Richard King, who claimed the right
To ride for help to Grahamstown.
An Isipingo settler, proud
To call them kin that held the post;
A trader, by the tribes allowed
To be a braver man than most.
One cunning in the knowledge gleaned
From practice in the hunter's skill;
A man from self by duty weaned
A noble deed to dare and will;
No soldier of the line, but one
Of that grand army that has set
Example for all time that none
Who honours valour may forget.
Close by his side a native man,
The loyal Ndongeni, stood;
A Zulu from a southern clan
And sib to those of Fingo blood.
He, too, could rank with those who braid
The drab design of life with deeds
That shine forever, and have made
More converts than a thousand creeds
To that high faith that holds it just
That man should give, at call of man,
This life of his he keeps in trust
Since first his breathing life began.
The light dripped from each muffled oar,
As through the ebbing tide a boat
Crept silently towards the shore;
A dark and phantom shape, afloat
Upon a phosphorescent sea
Where the disturbing ripples woke,
From secret depths, incessantly,
In shards of splendour, shreds whose flare
Shone with pure blue and crimson light,
Like gules on tabards heralds wear,
Or the fine blue of azurite.
Two horses swam astern, each head
Outlined against that living glow
That round their manes its radiance spread,
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And with each ripple seemed to grow
More bright than the reflected stars
That winked within the waters' sheen,
And lengthened into lambent bars
A-quivering in its lucent green.
So, slowly moving on they reached
The kelp that clogged the shoals inshore.
And on the moonlit shingle beached
Their boat, and stowed each muffled oar.
In the dark shadows of the wood,
Under the wild-fig's canopy
Wherein by day the ring doves cooed
And wild cicadas chirped in glee,
That loomed now like a pall of brown
Flecked by the fire-fly's wavering flare,
They rubbed their dripping horses down,
And saddled both with hasty care.
Then mounting swiftly, sped away
Across the shingly beach, to gain
The upland stretch beyond the bay,
Trippling along with tightened rein
Until they reached the forest glade,
Where monkey-trails and by-paths meet,
Paved with the mould of leaves that made
A carpet for their horses' feet.
Behind the forest in the dark
Twinkled the camp fires of the foe,
Congella's camp, a lager park
Of hooded wagons drawn in row,
Whose outposts with alert aware
Patrolled the forest to forestall
The passage of whoe'er should dare
To answer to that urgent call
For help from the beleaguered few
That held the ditch-encircled post
On Durban's shore, and waiting knew
How nearly what they held was lost.
With wary skill the riders sped
Along the forest paths all night,
Till in the east the day-dawn shed
O'er the still sea its nascent light.
They saw its splendid coming flare
In tangling hues, while tangent beams,
Like giant spears thrust through the air,
Gleamed as on steel the sunlight gleams.
They saw its lurid colours fade,
Its ruby change to nacre's pearl,
Its opal azure turn to jade
That greened a cloud-skirt's wispy curl;
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They saw the sun its strength unfold,
Though still of sovereign glory shorn,
Till the eastern sky was gold, all gold,
And day with all its dangers born.
Then on a rush-green river bank
Where blue ground-orchids mocked the sky
And swallowtails at puddles drank,
Amid the reeds where none could spy
They tied their tired steeds and lay
Behind the friendly guarding screen,
Until the sun set and the day
Eclipsed in the soft twilight green.
When the matured moon in pride
Flooded the hills in silver haze,
They swam to reach the farther side,
And rode again on forest ways,
Through plantain brakes and tangled grass.
By secret paths that hunters know,
Past the slow-flowing Umkomaas,
Birthed by the Dragon Mountains' snow;
With every ford a risk to dare,
Not to be chanced by such as they,
And every open road a snare,
They rode till dawn the second day.
Then hid again within a brake
Where tree-ferns grew in tiers between
The moss-clad stones as if to make
A rampart wall around the green,
Until the scorching midday sun
Descended in the western sky,
And the cicada's song, begun
At morning, ceased its lullaby,
And from their shelters, daintily,
The wild deer tripped to feed in train
On the rich pasture, while the bee
Winged, gold-dust-bodied, home again.
Then Ndongeni went alone,
Shorn of his garb, a native man,
To native kraals where he was known
As friend and kinsman of the clan,
To glean what news the tribesmen knew,
By token or by word of mouth,
Of armed white men passing through
The river drifts to reach the south.
They told him how the scouts were set
Posted in ambush; every ford
Was guarded by a Boer vedette
For none to pass without the word.
For, thus they told, at daybreak light,
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A forest-scouring posse had made
Keen search in every kraal that might
Have sheltered two that went for aid -
‘A white chief and his body slave’,
(An eyelid drooped) so folk declared,
‘Awee ... but suchlike men were brave
That so much risk and danger dared ...’
With morning Ndongeni reached
The tree-fern-brake, and told his tale
While from the flatcrowns owlets screeched
Their plangent, plaintive, mating wail.
In hurried council, for the night
Was passing and their danger close,
They made new plans before the light
Of morning flushed the sky with rose.
How one alone should struggle on,
While one went back to make report
To hearten with the progress done
The tired defenders of the fort.
The white man, though his chance was frail,
Rode south upon his perilous way;
The Zulu took the northern trail,
Back to the camp at Durban bay.
Long streaks of silver grey reveal
The coming day beyond the sea,
And o'er the east the dawn-glows steal
With quiet strength increasingly,
Till shafts of mother-o'-pearl appear
That shoot across the starless sky
To meet cloud-isles that shift and veer
'Twixt rubied hazes flung on high,
Until a fretted summit gleams
Outlined against a dazzling screen
Of turquoise glints and topaz beams
And flecks of gold and tourmaline;
Until the traversed forest lies
A dark green blot against the gold,
And the lit splendour of the skies
Throws morning shadows o'er the wold.
The early sun, still mountain-mazed,
Climbs slowly o'er the weathered range,
Whose deep-cut cloughs are darkly hazed
By grey-brown mists that curl and change.
Its first full glare shows grassy fields,
That slope, soft-silvered, to the west,
Where the rich river upland yields
Its treasures to the winter's test.
Here winds the path by zig-zag turns
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Between brown rocks on either hand,
Whereon the tall-stemmed aloe burns
Vermilion like a flaming brand.
Through this rich landscape, tired and spent
By days of danger, nights of toil,
The weary horse and rider went,
Both dabbed with sweat and scabbed with soil.
The horse, with neck outstretched, still loped,
No longer champing on the bit,
But stumblingly like one that groped
Half blinded by the dust-storm's grit.
The pressure of its rider's knee
Still urged it on across the heath,
And to that urge obediently
It answered, though with panting breath.
Its no less wearied rider kept
His balance with that practised skill
At which the hunter is adept,
And mastered pain by power of will.
His bloodshot, staring eyes were set
Fixed on the distant hills, as if
His jaded spirit yearned to get
Such solace as their peace could give.
So some poor martyr looked to God
For comfort in his tragedy,
And with imperial patience trod
His long ascent to Calvary.
Behind him lay a host of fears,
By courage conquered patiently,
Through days and nights that passed like years,
So slow their passing seemed to be.
Five days and moons his course had been
One long, lone, dreadful lap of speed,
Through forest glade and wild ravine,
And high-banked rivers hedged with reed.
The swollen Umtavuma's flood
Had fiercely whipped him with its froth;
The Umzimvubu's clinging mud
Still caked upon his saddle cloth.
More kind, the waters of the Kei
Had with their freshening cold sustained
His fading strength and faltering eye
By long-felt weariness enchained.
No moment safe from quick surprise
By those that followed in his wake;
Dodging by every ford the spies,
He threw the dice, his life the stake.
His life ... as if that mattered much
Where so much more at hazard lay.
What worth in life alone to such
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That never dared with death to play?
His thoughts turned back to that brave band
That watched the south expectantly,
And as he thought he clenched his hand
And swore to struggle through or die.
One effort more. His ebbing will
Scarce served to steer his panting horse
To where the summit of a hill
Gleamed golden with the flowering gorse.
There, with the hum of bees around
And the fresh perfume of the breeze,
The tired horse and rider found
A moment's pause to rest at ease.
Beneath the shifting, dappled shade
Cast by a wind-stirred wild thorntree
Through whose thin leaves the sunlight strayed,
Dick King dismounted wearily.
First, mindful of his horse's need,
He loosed the bit and eased the belt,
So that his worn-out mount might feed
On the sparse greenery of the veld.
From where he stood his eye could scan
Where timbered mountain-kloofs sloped down
To where the sedge-bound river ran,
Beyond whose drift lay Grahamstown.
His goal in sight, new strength he gained,
And mounting, galloped on his way,
Until the lengthening shadows stained
The grassy hills with darkening grey.
He splashed through the last muddied fleet
Behind the native huts, and saw
Before him stretch the rutted street
Of white-walled houses thatched with straw.
There at the gun-flanked Drosdy gate,
Built by a murdered pioneer,
Where guarding sentries stood sedate,
He reined his horse in full career.
His task was done. Before the night
Had starred the sky, the bugles played,
And in the mellow lantern-light
The frontier soldiers stood arrayed
To hasten to the help of them
That held the fort of Durban bay
And struggled with scant hope to stem
A tide of ruin that swelled each day.
For he has ridden his crazy ride, his daring ride, his hero ride,
A ride that risked the ruin of hope, a ride that dared a madman's death.
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For he has reached the frontier town, his mission done, his warning cried;
And Selwyn, with the Twenty-seventh, will march to Port Elizabeth.
No ride like his, no task like his, though heroes share what heroes hold,
And history grants to each his meed of grateful praise and laurels won.
Long let the story of his ride to eager listening ears be told,
To match the magic pride that shares the splendour of a deed well done.
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