The Ride of One Hundred

"Steeds! steeds for my Riders! the fleetest and best!
      My Country demands, and there's death in delay! 
Unbar your corral to a People's behest,
      And lavish your treasures to speed us away! 
The stars of my banner must blaze in the rout
      Of Castro, the hater, the coward, and slave! 
And its stripes like a manifold scourge shall flout
      That insolent traitor death-hunting the brave !

"He is trailing his hounds to the deadly attack 
      On the Guards of LOS ANGELOS, sturdy and few,
But a week this day will I harry him back
      With the shattered remains of his howling crew."

The Ranch of Valleyo was buried in sleep, 
      But it roused at the call of that dark Mountaineer,
Who had marshaled his band for a hurricane-sweep 
      Through the lines of Rebellion, flank, center, and rear !

"Two hundred leagues ! and a savage nó Road
      Over bleak sierra and quaking morass! 
Through gulches untamed by a human abode,
      And the wild 'el Rincon's’ weltering pass! 
It can not be done!" and Valleyo's head
      Shook a creditless " No" in the face of the chief. 
“But it must! and it SHALL BE!" the warrior said,
      "My Land is my pledge, and the moment is brief!"

Three hundred steeds, from Valleyo's Ranch,
      Went down the SONOMA together that night, 
With the headlong plunge of an avalanche.
      That still in descending redoubles its might! 
Through the hills and the hollows the echoes were waked,
      With a charging shout of the daring and free — 
Till down Yerba Buena her cottages quaked
      In a prescient throb of her magic TO BE.

In a snow-flight tinged with a raining of red, 
      The galloping chargers were strung to their speed; 
For the mouths that were foaming, and flanks that bled, 
      Showered thus in the path of each emulous steed! 
The Riders leapt down from the beast over-spent 
      To their riderless runners that scoured o'er the plain; 
And their pathway was marked, far along, as they went, 
      By the wild-dogs feeding on fallen and slain!

No needless delay for imperative need.
      One nap, and a snatch, and away to their Ride! 
With their swarthy FREMONT dashing on in the lead,
      And his wiry Kit Carson almost at his side. 
No sound on their charge but the storming of hoofs.
      And the snort of the steeds as they darted and flew,
Or a shout from the ridges hurled down to the roofs,
      Like a voice from the clouds or a bolt from the blue!

Through startled San Pablo, through hushed Monterey ;
      Through far-scattered hamlets, o'er hedge-row and fosse! 
The lone watcher, roused by the stormy affray,
      Just muttered a curse, with the sign of the cross! 
The spectres that ride on the Brocken by night.
      Not wilder nor fleeter had seemed to their terror, 
Than these, in their wordless and weariless flight,
      Over ruinous rifts, and the jagged Sierra!

The dark-flooded Rio rolled down in their path;
      They faltered one leap, at its ruinous roar; 
"On! on through the torrent! we'll buffet its wrath!"
      And the Leader dashed on through the whirl to the shore! 
Swept down like the leaves of the forest, they went, 
      And the dark Sacrificios whitened with spray, 
As they struggled and plunged in the deadly descent,
      Till all but the rearmost rode out and away!

"The Dead to their Maker! the Quick to the Charge! 
      The hights of the Puebla are looming in sight; 
There wavers the Banner of Stars, on their marge! 
      Now, plunge in the Battle! and God for the Right!" 
Oh! what a wild yell, like the funeral knell
      Of rampant Rebellion, went up with that cry! 
As full on the rear of the Traitor they fell,
      Like a thunder-bolt launched from a shadowless sky!

"FREMONT to the rescue! Ho, rally once more!
      He has come with his Riders! the dark Mountaineer!" 
The garrison's volley rang out with a roar.
      In reply to the thunders that rose on the rear! 
Star flashing to star, from their flags, o'er the foe,
      Sent a cheer to the Braves, but a basilisk glare 
On the terrified legions dispersed at a blow,
      And whelmed by the Riders in final despair;

For the Lancers of Castro went down in that storm,
      Like reeds of the fen in a tempest of fire,
Where the fierce Wah-lah-wah-lah's ungarmented form
       Rode on, like a demon of doom, in his ire; 
And the swart Mountaineers with their Chief in the van, 
      Wheeled in, with a gallop, and swept them away! 
So rode The One Hundred, led on by The Man, 
      And the arm of Rebellion was broken that day.
- - - - - - - - - 

Again to the rescue! undaunted FREMONT!
      The hell-hounds of treachery, snuffing for blood,
Are loosed on the Man-child at Liberty's font—
      Young KANSAS the free, trampled down by their brood;
Now thunder the war-cry, as then it was thundered, 
      Charge home on Oppression! and God for the Right!
Our Millions will ride in the path of the Hundred, 
      And bloodless, or bleeding, win all in the fight!