10. the sinking of the Cumberland: hearts of Oak — an epitaph, March 8, 1862.
To quarters — stand by, my hearties IEvery shot to-day must tell--
Here they come at last, the lubbers,
Boxed up in their iron shell.
Aye, she's heading dead athwart us,
Where the fog begins to lift--
Now a broadside, and all together,
At the bloody rope-walk adrift!
How the hog-back's snout comes on us!
Give it again to 'em, boys!
Ah!
there's a crash at our counter
Can be heard through all the noise!
'Tis like pitching of peas and pebbles--
No matter for that, my men;
Stand by, to send 'em another--
Ah!
I think we hulled her then!
Carpenter, how is the water?
Gaining, sir, faster and higher;
'Tis all awash in the ward-room.
Never mind — we can load and fire!
Let them charge with their Iron Devil,
They never shall see our backs--
What, all afloat on our gun-deck?
Aye, your sponges and rammers to the racks!
Sinking, my hearts, at an anchor--
But never say die till it's o'er!
Are you ready there on the spar-deck?
We'll give them one round more.
Ready all, or the spar-deck?
Aye, my lads, we're going down--
She's heeling — but one more broadside
For the Navy and its old renown!
Hurrah!
there go the splinters!
Ha!
they shall know us where we drown!
Now one cheer more, my hearties,
For the Flag and its brave renown!
They shall hear it, the fine old captains,
With Hull and Perry looking down.
They're watching us, where we founder,
With a tear on each tough old cheek--
Down she goes, our noble frigate,
But the Old Flag's still at her peak!
It waves o'er the blood-red water--
Lawrence sees it where it flies!
And they look down, our grand old captains,
With a tear and a smile from the skies.
