I spoke, but all the ears in reach Were deaf to every charm of speech; I shouted till the roof, the floor And walls resounded with the roar; I called the dead men at my side, But Echo's voice alone replied; I was alone, nor man nor brute Was there, save those so stark and mute; My voice upon my listening ear Fell, most unnatural and queer, As if with weird, uncanny sound The walls responsive voices found, And echoed back the tones at will, To mock those tongues so cold and still; Though these vociferations made My spirit none the less afraid, The silence seemed more terrible; Words fail me as I strive to tell How in my desperation, I Abandoned hope, yet could not die. I never craved the morning light, As through that terrifying night, For gentle but erratic Sleep Withheld her respite soft and deep, As in that charnel house I lay, Till twilight ushered in the day. When daylight had returned again I strove with the relentless chain, Twisted and tugged until at length A more than ordinary strength Possessed my arm, and at one stroke The rivets weakened, bent and broke; One master wrench and from the floor, The ring which held the chain I tore; I dragged the dead men o'er the ground Till forge and anvil I had found; There with the hammer, rasp and file I wrought with diligence the while; At some expense of time and pains, I disengaged the cruel chains, And stood once more erect and free: Thus ended my captivity. * * * * * A guard lay prostrate on the sand, His rifle in his lifeless hand; I wrenched it from his rigid clutch, Then played the ghoul in self-defence, For clothing and accoutrements Escaped not my despoiling touch; I breathed the air of liberty, Alone I stood, but armed and free. To mislead any watchful eyes, I donned a militant disguise, And, in the dead man's uniform, Was soon prepared for strife or storm. Unseen, unhindered, unpursued, I soon was in the solitude, Contending with impediments, Which every wilderness presents. Primeval forests, through which poured Rivers unknown to bridge or ford; Swamps, overgrown with weeds and moss, Almost impossible to cross; A waste of fallen trees and logs, Rank vegetation, stagnant bogs; Decaying leaves, profusely spread, Which rustled at the slightest tread, While underbrush and thicket made A thorny maze or barricade, Through which 'twas difficult to force A passage or retain one's course. There my experience began, Along the lines of primal man; My fare, as I remember well, Was strictly aboriginal, For stupid grouse and ptarmigan Were easily approached and slain; And, as a relish for such food, I had the berries of the wood.