Page:The writings in prose and verse of Rudyard Kipling (IA cu31924057346631).pdf/48

 Where the Jungle stands in an inland sea, When the hills send down their floods to the plain, And the waters drown the coiled tree-snake, And the reed-thatched hamlets by jhîl and lake Are swamped and demolished utterly.

"How can I tell of the months of fight?&mdash; The whole thing slid like an evil dream, With the same tired halt at camping-time, When the hot day sank into hotter night, A broken sleep and a dream of home; Then grain for each lowing bullock-team; And then the sun in the parched blue dome&mdash; And the weary, broken sleep again.

"But one thing stays in my mind, and will stay Stamped in fire till the day I die:&mdash; How the wild Mahratta ranks gave way From a poor four thousand of Englishmen, By the little village they call Assye&mdash; For we were one where they numbered ten; How we fought through the hot September day In the face of their cannon, and how we slew; How the horsemen galloped down on us, And we broke their ranks and fought anew, In the midst of a fire so murderous That it seems a wonder that I am alife; And, last of all, how we chased the crew, Drove them like bullocks our peasants drive, Footsore and bleeding. It happened thus: 28