And on the third night near the dawn of day,
In rubber cloak stole in upon the post
A pompous major, on the nightly round,
Unchallenged. All fatigued and drenched with rain,
Still on his post with rifle in his hand--
Against a sheltering elm Paul stood and slept.
Muttering of death the brutal major stormed,
Then pitiless pricked the comrade with his sword,
And from his shelter drove him to the watch,
Burning with fever. There Paul interposed
And said:
"'I ask no mercy at your hands;
I shall not whimper, but my comrade here
Is ill of fever; I have stood his watch:
Sir, if a human heart beats in your breast,
Send him to camp, or he will surely die.'
"The pompous brute--vaingloriously great
In straps and buttons--haughtily silenced Paul,
Hand-bound and sent him guarded to the camp,
And the poor comrade shivering stood the watch
Till dawn of day and I was made aware.
Among the true were some vainglorious fools
Called by the fife and drum from native mire
To lord and strut in shoulder-straps and buttons.
Scrubs, born to brush the boots of gentlemen,
By sudden freak of fortune found themselves
Masters of better men, and lorded it
As only base and brutish natures can--
Braves on parade and cowards under fire.
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