Snowflakes Part 7

BATTLE OF SANTIAGO BAY.

Just off the coast of an isle that lies Where silver'd, feathery palm-trees rise As if their branches would kiss the skies So blue, so far away; When woke each vale the Sabbath bell, On seas that gently rose and fell, Our nation's warships lay.

As dreamily, lazily basking, they In quiet tropical sunshine lay, In sight of a placid, sleeping bay, Where anch.o.r.ed the Spaniard's ships, "A big boat's coming from the bay!

The Spaniard's squadron comes this way!"

Came loud from a lookout's lips.

As one by one came the fleet of Spain Across the bay, toward the main, With hope in each bosom they once again Launched forth on open sea.

"Each man to his gun!" the commodore cried, And the warships plowed through the cloven tide, In the trail of the enemy.

"Full speed ahead! Open fire!"

The commodore's voice rose high'r and high'r, 'Midst smoke and flames to the enemy nigh'r, The gallant fleet plunged on.

The cannons poured forth fire and thunder, The great sh.e.l.ls cleft the waves asunder, As gun replied to gun.

Right through the hot h.e.l.l-fire and sh.e.l.l, Through mist and smoke and shot that fell O'er ship and boiling sea, pell-mell, Charged Freedom's heroes true.

For o'er the battle's smoke and fury Waved high the synonym of glory,-- The old "Red, White and Blue."

Great crashing volleys, long and loud, Swept from the decks the Spaniards proud, Then wrapped their boats in a smoky shroud, And left them beached and burning.

Their decks in human blood were laved, O'er which the yellow banner waved So vauntingly that morning.

That eve the sunset's crimson ray Touched gently, softly, tenderly The waves that moaned where the lost fleet lay,-- The pride of Spain erstwhile,-- And crowned the man who climbed the height To plant "Old Glory's" spangles bright On sun-kissed Cuba's Isle.

THE OLD MAN'S STORY.

We'd been a talkin'--me and Ma-- A deal about our Bill.

He wuz well nigh onto thirty, And gettin' older still.

He wa'n't a lazy lad, you see, Wuz tall and strong and big, But to accomplish anything He must git up and dig.

Next we sot out to talk of Sal; She wa'n't a hansum la.s.s, But luvin'er or kinder soul Ne'er stepped on medder gra.s.s.

Sez I, "Good wimmen never grows Frum idle gals, 'tis true;"

So we decided Sally should Airn her own livin' too.

And then we talked about the twins,-- About our Joe and Jim.

Joe allus wuz a truant cuss, And oft I've wallerp'd him

Fer runnin' 'way from skule to watch The ships c.u.m in at sea.

He allus said, "When I'm a man, A sailor I will be."

Wuz allus gettin' inter sc.r.a.ps On politicks at skule; It wa'n't no use to send 'im, He broke ever' gol-durned rule.

But Jim wuz sort o' studious; He keered a heap fer books.

Lazy? I guess! On summer days He'd find the shady nooks

And lay and read, while me and Bill Got out and dun the work, And airned a decent livin' fer This lazy, wuthless shirk.

But Sue, she wuz a hansum gal; Her cheek wuz like the rose; Her breth wuz sweet as any breeze The June-time ever blows.

Her eyes wuz dark and full of fire, Her cheeks wuz churry red, Her body sort o' willery, But she'd a haughty head.

But if you wanted her to work She never could be found; And, mebby, if you scoured the farm And all the country round,

You'd find her sittin' in a tree A-whistlin' o' the tune She'd heered the medder lark a-singin'

To the skies o' June.

And so one nite I called 'em in, I think jest arter tea.

Sez I, "We've clothed and edecated you-- Yer Ma and me;

But now we're gettin' old, our j'ints O' roomatism tells, And it's high time fer you to airn A livin' fer yoursel's."

Our kids wuz proud as eny Indiany's ever grown, And so, afore another month They left us all alone.

Bill went to Philadelphy town And hired to a store As keeps all sorts o' things in lots, Oh, millions,--mebby more.

Sal went to work fer Deken Dobbs, And Joe went off to sea; But Jim turned out an editor-- A mighty man wuz he.

Along k.u.m one o' them air shows With gals that danced and sang; And, spite of all her ma could say, Our Sue, she j'ined the gang.

As years went by our Bill he wed A hansum city wife, And went to livin' in accord With high-dad city life.

The children k.u.m till he possessed O' them a mammoth fold; And ever'thing he teched jest seemed To turn to yaller gold.

Sal, wed to Deken Dobbs's son, Wuz happy, but so poor; And meny children played around Her country cabin door.

But then she loved that wuthless man, And p'raps, when all is told, She's happier 'n she would 'a' bin If she had wed fer gold.

The last I heered of rompin' Sue, I b'lieve it wuz a "hit"

They called it that she made in France, And ever' night she'd git

Great piles o' flowers, roses and sich, O' yaller, red and white; And ever' time she danced she fetched Ten thousan' francs a night!

But Jim--poor Jim! our lazy boy-- He did'nt fare so well; He's good in larnin', but, somehow, His paper didn't sell.

But why it didn't I can't tell, And of'n wonder yit; Fer when the people brung in stuff As fer his paper writ

Thet didn't sound jest right to him, And wuzn't right in looks, He allus tuk and made it right, Fer Jim wuz good in books.

He know'd about the president, Congress and senate, too; Could tell you all that they hed done And what they'd ort to do.

And when he found he couldn't make Enuff to buy a bike, He _walked_ off down the railroad track Toward the Klonindike.

But do you know that wuthless Joe Turned out the best of all?

When down-trod Cuby needed help, He answered duty's call,