The way to our work was plain :
Caldwell had broken the chain
(Two hulks swung down amain,
Soon as 'twas sundered)—
Under the night's dark blue,
Steering steady and true,
Ship after ship went through-
Till, as we hove in view,
Jackson out-thundered.

Back echoed Philip! Ah, then—
Could you have seen our men,

How they sprung, in the dim night haze, To their work of toil and of clamor!

How the loaders, with sponge and rammer,
And their captains, with cord and hammer,
Kept every muzzle ablaze!

How the guns, as with cheer and shout
Our tackle-men hurled them out,
Brought up on the water-ways!

First, as we fired at their flash,

'Twas lightning and black eclipse,

With a bellowing roll and crash;

But soon, upon either bow,

What with forts, and fire-rafts, and ships

(The whole fleet was hard at it now,

All pounding away!) and Porter

Still thundering with shell and mortar

'Twas the mighty sound and form Of an equatorial storm!

(Such you see in the far south,

After long heat and drouth,
As day draws nigh to even-
Arching from north to south,
Blinding the tropic sun,

The great black bow comes on-
Till the thunder-veil is riven,
When all is crash and levin,

And the cannonade of heaven
Rolls down the Amazon!)

But as we worked along higher,
Just where the river enlarges,
Down came a pyramid of fire-

It was one of your long coal barges. (We had often had the like before)— 'Twas coming down on us to larboard, Well in with the eastern shore

And our pilot, to let it pass round (You may guess we never stopped to sound), Giving us a rank sheer to starboard,

Ran the Flag hard and fast aground!

'Twas nigh abreast of the Upper Fort;
And straightway a rascal ram

(She was shaped like the devil's dam)
Puffed away for us, with a snort,
And shoved it, with spiteful strength,
Right alongside of us, to port-
It was all of our ship's length,
A huge crackling cradle of the pit!
Pitch-pine knots to the brim,
Belching flame red and grim-
What a roar came up from it!

Well, for a little it looked bad

But these things are, somehow, shorter

In the acting than the telling

There was no singing-out nor yelling,
Nor any fussing and fretting,

No stampede, in short-
But there we were, my lad,

All a-fire on our port quarter! Hammocks a-blaze in the netting,

Flame spouting in at every portOur fourth cutter burning at the davit (No chance to lower away and save it).

In a twinkling, the flames had risen
Halfway to maintop and mizzen,

Darting up the shrouds like snakes!
Ah! how we clanked at the brakes,

And the deep steam-pumps throbbed under,
Sending a ceaseless flow!

Our top-men, a dauntless crowd,
Swarmed in rigging and shroud—

There ('twas a wonder!)

The burning ratlins and strands

They quenched with their bare hard hands-
But the great guns below

Never silenced their thunder!

At last, by backing and sounding,
When we were clear of grounding,
And under headway once more,
The whole rebel fleet came rounding
The point. If we had it hot before,
'Twas now, from shore to shore,
One long, loud, thundering roar—
Such crashing, splintering, and pounding,
And smashing as you never heard before!

But that we fought foul wrong to wreck,
And to save the land we loved so well,
You might have deemed our long gun-deck
Two hundred feet of hell!

For all above was battle,
Broadside, and blaze, and rattle,
Smoke and thunder alone-
(But down in the sick-bay,

Where our wounded and dying lay,

There was scarce a sob or a moan.) And at last, when the dim day broke, And the sullen sun awoke,

Drearily blinking

O'er the haze and the cannon-smoke,

That ever such morning dulls—
There were thirteen traitor hulls
On fire and sinking!

Now, up the river!-though mad Chalmette
Sputters a vain resistance yet.

Small helm we gave her, our course to steer—
'Twas nicer work than you well would dream,
With cant and sheer to keep her clear

Of the burning wrecks that cumbered the stream.

The Louisiana, hurled on high,

Mounts in thunder to meet the sky!

Then down to the depths of the turbid flood
Fifty fathom of rebel mud!

The Mississippi comes floating down,

A mighty bonfire, from off the town-
And along the river, on stocks and ways,
A half-hatched devil's brood is ablaze;
The great Anglo-Norman is all in flames,
(Hark to the roar of her tumbling frames!)
And the smaller fry that Treason would spawn
Are lighting Algiers like an angry dawn!

From stem to stern, how the pirates burn,
Fired by the furious hands that built!

So to ashes forever turn

The suicide wrecks of wrong and guilt!

But as we neared the city,

By field and vast plantation,
(Ah, millstone of our nation!)
With wonder and with pity

What crowds we there espied
Of dark and wistful faces,
Mute in their toiling-places,
Strangely and sadly eyed—
Haply, 'mid doubt and fear,
Deeming deliverance near—
(One gave the ghost of a cheer!)

And on that dolorous strand,
To greet the victor-brave

One flag did welcome wave-
Raised, ah me! by a wretched hand
All outworn on our cruel land—
The withered hand of a slave!
But all along the levee,

In a dark and drenching rain
(By this, 'twas pouring heavy),
Stood a fierce and sullen train-

A strange and a frenzied time!
There were scowling rage and pain,
Curses, howls, and hisses,

Out of hate's black abysses

Their courage and their crime

All in vain-all in vain !

For from the hour that the rebel stream, With the Crescent City lying abeam, Shuddered under our keel,

Smit to the heart with self-struck sting, Slavery died in her scorpion-ring,

And Murder fell on his steel.

'Tis well to do and dare-
But ever may grateful prayer
Follow, as aye it ought,
When the good fight is fought,
When the true deed is done;
Aloft in heaven's pure light
(Deep azure crossed on white),
Our fair Church-Pennant waves
O'er a thousand thankful braves,
Bareheaded in God's bright sun.

Lord of mercy and frown,
Ruling o'er sea and shore,
Send us such scene once more!
All in Line of Battle