Rifleman Harris execution duty.

Johnson enlisted English Army and claimed the bounty £8. He deserted. Rejoining different regiments under a false name. Another bounty! Repeated 16 times. Caught! Rifleman Harris recollects it.

"Now let us look at Johnson's case.

His execution plan.

A dozen bounties he's obtained,

A ninety six pounds scam.

Enlist! Desert! Enlist again

The army of England."

So spake General Whitelock

To the officers of Foot.

"Fifteen thousand will see him die

Six regiments I moot!

Sixteen boys each sixteen years,

The firing party troop!"

On year eighteen hundred and three.

Private Johnson, will end his life,

For deterrent and desertion.

(No care for kin or wife.)

And Portsdown Hill, grass so green

This spectacle should site.

Conscript Harris was mere sixteen,

In the sixty sixth of foot.

Selected from his Army Corps,

With fifteen more recruits.

A firing party to perform.

Dressed in their scarlet suits.

The youngest soldiers were handpicked

From four King's Regiments.

The 66th and 70th

The 61st and 10th.

Fifteen thousand to see one die

An Englishman from Kent.

These boys had never killed a man.

Their first: one of their own!

Drum Major ordered "Muskets Out!"

And drilled their duty home.

Ben Harris would pay any sum

To be in his Dorset Home.

So came the culprit, bearing brave.

A speech he did relate.

"It's just I die, lads! I repent.

T'was drinking, evil mates!

Let not my death be your fate.

God hear my sins relate!"

Now confessed, it came the time.

Blindfold, required to kneel.

Behind him Army coffin boards.

No sound.  No move  No squeal!

Drum Major gave expressive glance,

"Load muskets, all sixteen."

Then with a flourish of his cane,

They levelled and then fired.

Down he fell, shot right through,

Hands pinioned by his sides.

Like fishes fins, his hands still shook.

"May he be still alive?"

Another signal!  Four of them

Stepped forward and re-primed.

Muzzles up to Johnson's head,

And in it, Harris fired!

He a lad of sixteen years

Watched the culprit die.

Six regiments then called to march

"Slow march!" on polished shoes.

All paced past the blasted dead,

"One, two! and step, one, two!

As the companies marched to the sight,

"Mark Time!  Eyes right! and view."

"Now my lads should you desert

Like Johnson, man of Kent.

Fifteen thousand may see you die.

(66, 70, 61 and 10th!)

Now when we fight the Frenchmen.

Take every ball that's sent."

   

Author's Note

Written in the meter of The Ballard of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde.

Reviews

[Cherrie Palmer]

Great ending!!!!!!! moves fast like a battlefield, flows smooth like a poem should