TAND to your guns, men!" Morris cried. "STANI Our men at quarters ranged themselves, And then began the sailors' jests: 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 ours And where it falls, the deck it strikes "I ask but this: or sink or swim, My last sight upon earth may be Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass Her ports were closed, from stem to stem We wondered, questioned, strained our eyes, 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 roof As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch, Or, when against her dusky hull On, on, with fast increasing speed, See heeded not, nor gun she fired, Alas! our beautiful, keen bow, Alas! Alas! My Cumberland, To be so gored, to feel so deep Once more she backward drew a space, Her broadside through us sent. The dead and dying round us lay, But our foeman lay abeam; We felt our vessel settling fast, We knew our time was brief; "The pumps, the pumps!" But they who pumped And fought not, wept with grief. "Oh, keep us but an hour afloat! To be the instruments of heaven From captain down to powder-boy, Two soldiers, but by chance aboard, And when a gun's crew lost a hand, Our forward magazine was drowned; And up from the sick-bay Crawled out the wounded, red with blood, And round us gasping lay. Yes, cheering, calling us by name, With decks afloat, and powder gone, So sponges, rammers, and handspikes— "Up to the spar-deck! Save yourselves!" We turned-we did not like to go; Some swore, some groaned with pain. We reached the deck. Here Randall stood: "Another turn, men-so!" Calmly he aimed his pivot-gun : "Now, Tenney, let her go!" |