Poems of American Patriotism Part 16

Our lofty spars were down, To bide the battle's frown (Wont of old renown)-- But every ship was drest In her bravest and her best, As if for a July day; Sixty flags and three, As we floated up the bay-- Every peak and mast-head flew The brave Red, White, and Blue-- We were eighteen ships that day.

With hawsers strong and taut, The weaker lashed to port, On we sailed, two by two-- That if either a bolt should feel Crash through caldron or wheel, Fin of bronze or sinew of steel, Her mate might bear her through.

Steadily nearing the head, The great Flag-Ship led, Grandest of sights!

On her lofty mizzen flew Our Leader's dauntless Blue, That had waved o'er twenty fights-- So we went, with the first of the tide, Slowly, mid the roar Of the Rebel guns ash.o.r.e And the thunder of each full broadside.

Ah, how poor the prate Of statute and state, We once held with these fellows-- Here, on the flood's pale-green, Hark how he bellows, Each bluff old Sea-Lawyer!

Talk to them, Dahlgren, Parrott, and Sawyer!

On, in the whirling shade Of the cannon's sulphury breath, We drew to the Line of Death That our devilish Foe had laid-- Meshed in a horrible net, And baited villainous well, Right in our path were set Three hundred traps of h.e.l.l!

And there, O sight forlorn!

There, while the cannon Hurtled and thundered-- (Ah, what ill raven Flapped o'er the ship that morn!)-- Caught by the under-death, In the drawing of a breath, Down went dauntless Craven, He and his hundred!

A moment we saw her turret, A little heel she gave, And a thin white spray went o'er her, Like the crest of a breaking wave-- In that great iron coffin, The channel for their grave, The fort their monument, (Seen afar in the offing,) Ten fathom deep lie Craven, And the bravest of our brave.

Then, in that deadly track, A little the ships held back, Closing up in their stations-- There are minutes that fix the fate Of battles and of nations (Christening the generations,) When valor were all too late, If a moment's doubt be harbored From the main-top, bold and brief, Came the word of our grand old Chief-- "Go on!"--'twas all he said-- Our helm was put to the starboard, And the Hartford pa.s.sed ahead.

Ahead lay the Tennessee, On our starboard bow he lay, With his mail-clad consorts three, (The rest had run up the Bay)-- There he was, belching flame from his bow, And the steam from his throat's abyss Was a Dragon's maddened hiss-- In sooth a most cursed craft!-- In a sullen ring at bay By the Middle Ground they lay, Raking us fore and aft.

Trust me, our berth was hot, Ah, wickedly well they shot; How their death-bolts howled and stung!

And the water-batteries played With their deadly cannonade Till the air around us rung; So the battle raged and roared-- Ah, had you been aboard To have seen the fight we made!

How they leaped, the tongues of flame, From the cannon's fiery lip!

How the broadsides, deck and frame, Shook the great ship!

And how the enemy's sh.e.l.l Came crashing, heavy and oft, Clouds of splinters flying aloft And falling in oaken showers-- But ah, the pluck of the crew!

Had you stood on that deck of ours You had seen what men may do.

Still, as the fray grew louder, Boldly they worked and well; Steadily came the powder, Steadily came the sh.e.l.l.

And if tackle or truck found hurt, Quickly they cleared the wreck; And the dead were laid to port, All a-row, on our deck.

Never a nerve that failed, Never a cheek that paled, Not a tinge of gloom or pallor-- There was bold Kentucky's grit, And the old Virginian valor, And the daring Yankee wit.

There were blue eyes from turfy Shannon, There were black orbs from palmy Niger-- But there, alongside the cannon, Each man fought like a tiger!

A little, once, it looked ill, Our consort began to burn-- They quenched the flames with a will, But our men were falling still, And still the fleet was astern.

Right abreast of the Fort In an awful shroud they lay, Broadsides thundering away, And lightning from every port-- Scene of glory and dread!

A storm-cloud all aglow With flashes of fiery red-- The thunder raging below, And the forest of flags o'erhead!

So grand the hurly and roar, So fiercely their broadsides blazed, The regiments fighting ash.o.r.e Forgot to fire as they gazed.

There, to silence the Foe, Moving grimly and slow, They loomed in that deadly wreath, Where the darkest batteries frowned Death in the air all round, And the black torpedoes beneath!

And now, as we looked ahead, All for'ard, the long white deck Was growing a strange dull red; But soon, as once and agen Fore and aft we sped (The firing to guide or check,) You could hardly choose but tread On the ghastly human wreck, (Dreadful gobbet and shred That a minute ago were men!)

Red, from mainmast to bitts!

Red, on bulwark and wale-- Red, by combing and hatch-- Red, o'er netting and rail!

And ever, with steady con, The ship forged slowly by-- And ever the crew fought on, And their cheers rang loud and high.

Grand was the sight to see How by their guns they stood, Right in front of our dead Fighting square abreast-- Each brawny arm and chest All spotted with black and red, Chrism of fire and blood!

Worth our watch, dull and sterile, Worth all the weary time-- Worth the woe and the peril, To stand in that strait sublime!

Fear? A forgotten form!

Death? A dream of the eyes!

We were atoms in G.o.d's great storm That roared through the angry skies.

One only doubt was ours, One only dread we knew-- Could the day that dawned so well Go down for the Darker Powers?

_Would_ the fleet get through?

And ever the shot and sh.e.l.l Came with the howl of h.e.l.l, The splinter-clouds rose and fell, And the long line of corpses grew-- _Would_ the fleet win through?

They are men that never will fail (How aforetime they've fought!) But Murder may yet prevail-- They may sink as Craven sank.

Therewith one hard, fierce thought, Burning on heart and lip, Ran like fire through the ship-- _Fight_ her, to the last plank!

A dimmer Renown might strike If Death lay square alongside-- But the Old Flag has no like, She must fight, whatever betide-- When the war is a tale of old, And this day's story is told, They shall hear how the Hartford died!

But as we ranged ahead, And the leading ships worked in, Losing their hope to win, The enemy turned and fled-- And one seeks a shallow reach, And another, winged in her flight, Our mate, brave Jouett, brings in-- And one, all torn in the fight, Runs for a wreck on the beach, Where her flames soon fire the night.

And the Ram, when well up the Bay, And we looked that our stems should meet, (He had us fair for a prey,) Shifting his helm midway, Sheered off and ran for the fleet; There, without skulking or sham, He fought them, gun for gun, And ever he sought to ram, But could finish never a one.

From the first of the iron shower Till we sent our parting sh.e.l.l, 'Twas just one savage hour Of the roar and the rage of h.e.l.l.

With the lessening smoke and thunder, Our gla.s.ses around we aim-- What is that burning yonder?

Our Philippi,--aground and in flame!

Below, 'twas still all a-roar, As the ships went by the sh.o.r.e, But the fire of the fort had slacked, (So fierce their volleys had been)-- And now, with a mighty din, The whole fleet came grandly in, Though sorely battered and wracked.

So, up the Bay we ran, The Flag to port and ahead, And a pitying rain began To wash the lips of our dead.

A league from the Fort we lay, And deemed that the end must lag; When lo! looking down the Bay, There flaunted the Rebel Rag-- The Ram is again under way, And heading dead for the Flag!

Steering up with the stream, Boldly his course, he lay, Though the fleet all answered his fire, And, as he still drew nigher, Ever on bow and beam Our Monitors pounded away-- How the Chickasaw hammered away!

Quickly breasting the wave, Eager the prize to win, First of us all the brave Monongahela went in Under full head of steam-- Twice she struck him abeam, Till her stem was a sorry work, (She might have run on a crag!) The Lackawanna hit fair, He flung her aside like cork, And still he held for the Flag.

High in the mizzen shroud (Lest the smoke his sight o'erwhelm), Our Admiral's voice rang loud, "Hard-a-starboard your helm!

Starboard! and run him down!"

Starboard it was--and so, Like a black squall's lifting frown, Our mighty bow bore down On the iron beak of the Foe.

We stood on the deck together, Men that had looked on death In battle and stormy weather-- Yet a little we held our breath, When, with the hush of death, The great ships drew together.

Our Captain strode to the bow, Drayton, courtly and wise, Kindly cynic, and wise, (You hardly had known him now,-- The flame of fight in his eyes!) His brave heart eager to feel How the oak would tell on the steel!

But, as the s.p.a.ce grew short, A little he seemed to shun us, Out peered a form grim and lanky, And a voice yelled: "Hard-a-port!

Hard-a-port!--here's the d.a.m.ned Yankee Coming right down on us!"

He sheered, but the ships ran foul; With a gnarring shudder and growl-- He gave us a deadly gun; But as he pa.s.sed in his pride, (Rasping right alongside!) The Old Flag, in thunder tones, Poured in her port broadside, Rattling his iron hide, And cracking his timber bones!

Just then, at speed on the Foe, With her bow all weathered and brown, The great Lackawanna came down, Full tilt, for another blow; We were forging ahead, She reversed--but, for all our pains, Rammed the old Hartford instead, Just for'ard the mizzen-chains!