On Board the Cumberland

Stand to your guns, men!" Morris cried.Small need to pass the word;Our men at quarters ranged themselves,Before the drum was heard.

And then began the sailors' jests:"What thing is that, I say?"A long-shore meeting-house adriftIs standing down the bay! "

A frown came over Morris' face;The strange, dark craft he knew;That is the iron Merrimac,Manned by a Rebel crew.

So shot your guns, and point them straight;Before this day goes by,We'll try of what her metal's made."A cheer was our reply.

Remember, boys, this flag of oursHas seldom left its place;And where it falls, the deck it strikesIs covered with disgrace.

I ask but this: or sink or swim,Or live or nobly die,My last sight upon earth may beTo see that ensign fly!"

Meanwhile the shapeless iron massCame moving o'er the wave,As gloomy as a passing hearse,As silent as the grave.

Her ports were closed; from stem to sternNo sign of life appeared.We wondered, questioned, strained our eyesJoked—everything but feared.

She reached our range. Our broadside rang,Our heavy pivots roared;And shot and shell, a fire of hell,Against her sides we poured.

God's mercy! from her sloping roofThe iron tempest glanced,As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch,And round her leaped and danced;

Or when against her dusky hullWe struck a fair, full blow,The mighty, solid iron globes,Were crumbled up like snow.

On, on, with fast increasing speed,The silent monster came;Though all our starboard batteryWas one long line of flame

She heeded not, no gun she fired,Straight on our bow she bore;Through riving plank and crashing frameHer furious way she tore.

Alas! our beautiful keen bow,That in the fiercest blastSo gently folded back the seas,They hardly felt we passed!

Alas! alas! my Cumberland,That ne'er knew grief before,To be so gored, to feel so deepThe tusk of that sea-boar!

Once more she backward drew a space,Once more our side she rent;Then, in the wantonness of hate,Her broadside through us sent.

The dead and dying round us lay,But our foemen lay abeam;Her open port-holes maddened us;We fired with shout and scream.

We felt our vessel settling fast,We knew our time was brief.Ho! man the pumps, the pumps!" but they who worked,And fought not, wept with grief.

Oh! keep us but an hour afloat!Oh! give us only timeTo mete upon the traitors' headsThe measure of their crime!"

From captain down to powder-boyNo hand was idle then;Two soldiers, but by chance aboard,Fought on like sailor-men.

And when a gun's crew lost a hand,Some bold marine stepped out,And jerked his braided jacket off,And hauled the gun about.

Our forward magazine was drowned;And up from the sick bayCrawled out the wounded, red with blood,And round us gasping lay.

Yes, cheering, calling us by name,Struggling with failing breath,To keep their shipmates at the postWhere Glory strove with Death.

With decks afloat, and powder gone,The last broadside we gaveFrom the guns' heated iron lipsBurst out beneath the wave.

So sponges, rammers and handspike—As men-of-war's-men should—We placed within their proper racks,And at our quarters stood."

Up to the spar-deck! save yourselves!"Cried Selfridge. "Up, my men !God grant that some of us may liveTo fight yon ship again!"

We turned—we did not like to go;Yet staying seemed but vain,Knee-deep in water; so we leftSome swore, some groaned with pain.

We reached the deck. There Randall stood:"Another turn, men—so!"Calmly he aimed his pivot-gun:"Now, Tenny, let her go!"

It did our sore hearts good to hearThe song our pivot sang,As rushing on from wave to waveThe whirring bomb-shell sprang.

Brave Randall leaped upon the gun.And waved his cap in sport;"Well done! well aimed! I saw that shellGo through an open port."

It was our last, our deadliest shot;The deck was overflown;The poor ship staggered, lurched to port,And gave a living groan.

Down, down, as headlong through the wavesOur gallant vessel rushed,A thousand gurgling watery soundsAround my senses gushed.

Then I remember little more.One look to heaven I gave,Where, like an angel's wing, I sawOur spotless ensign wave.

I tried to cheer. I cannot sayWhether I swam or sank;A blue mist closed around my eyes,And everything was blank.

When I awoke, a soldier ladAll dripping from the sea,With two great tears upon his cheeks,Was bending over me.

I tried to speak. He understoodThe wish I could not speak.He turned me. There, thank God! the flagStill fluttered at the peak!

And there, while thread shall hang to thread,Oh, let that ensign fly!The noblest constellation setAgainst our northern sky.

A sign that we who live may claimThe peerage of the brave;A monument, that needs no scroll,For those beneath the wave.