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| WOULD you hear of the River-Fight? | |
| It was two of a soft spring night;— | |
| God’s stars looked down on all, | |
| And all was clear and bright | |
| But the low fog’s chilling breath— | 5 |
| Up the River of Death | |
| Sailed the Great Admiral. | |
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| On our high poop-deck he stood, | |
| And round him ranged the men | |
| Who have made their birthright good | 10 |
| Of manhood, once and again,— | |
| Lords of helm and of sail, | |
| Tried in tempest and gale, | |
| Bronzed in battle and wreck: | |
| Bell and Bailey grandly led | 15 |
| Each his Line of the Blue and Red, | |
| Wainwright stood by our starboard rail, | |
| Thornton fought the deck. | |
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| And I mind me of more than they, | |
| Of the youthful, steadfast ones, | 20 |
| That have shown them worthy sons | |
| Of the Seamen passed away— | |
| Tyson conned our helm that day, | |
| Watson stood by his guns. | |
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| What thought our Admiral then, | 25 |
| Looking down on his men? | |
| Since the terrible day,(Day of renown and tears!) | |
| When at anchor the Essex lay, | |
| Holding her foes at bay, | |
| When, a boy, by Porter’s side he stood | 30 |
| Till deck and plank-sheer were dyed with blood, | |
| ’T is half a hundred years— | |
| Half a hundred years to-day! | |
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| Who could fail with him? | |
| Who reckon of life or limb? | 35 |
| Not a pulse but beat the higher! | |
| There had you seen, by the starlight dim, | |
| Five hundred faces strong and grim— | |
| The Flag is going under fire! | |
| Right up by the fort, with her helm hard-a-port, | 40 |
| The Hartford is going under fire! | |
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| The way to our work was plain, | |
| Caldwell had broken the chain | |
| (Two hulks swung down amain, Soon as ’t was sundered). | |
| Under the night’s dark blue, | 45 |
| Steering steady and true, | |
| Ship after ship went through, | |
| Till, as we hove in view, | |
| Jackson out-thundered. | |
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| Back echoed Philip! ah, then | 50 |
| 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, | 55 |
| Kept every muscle ablaze! | |
| How the guns, as with cheer and shout | |
| Our tackle-men hurled them out, | |
| Brought up on the water-ways! | |
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| First, as we fired at their flash, | 60 |
| ’T was 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, | 65 |
| All pounding away!) and Porter | |
| Still thundering with shell and morter, | |
| ’T was the mighty sound and form | |
| Of an equatorial storm! | |
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| Such you see in the Far South, | 70 |
| 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, | 75 |
| 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, | 80 |
| 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). | |
| ’T was coming down on us to larboard, | 85 |
| 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! | 90 |
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| ’T was 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 | 95 |
| 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) | 100 |
| 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, | 105 |
| Nor any fussing and fretting, | |
| No stampede, in short; | |
| But there we were, my lad, | |
| All afire on our port quarter, | |
| Hammocks ablaze in the netting, | 110 |
| Flames spouting in at every port, | |
| Our 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, | 115 |
| 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 topmen, a dauntless crowd, | 120 |
| Swarmed in rigging and shroud— | |
| There, (’t was a wonder!) | |
| The burning ratlines and strands | |
| They quenched with their bare hard hands; | |
| But the great guns below | 125 |
| Never silenced their thunder! | |
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| At last, by backing and sounding, | |
| When we were clear of grounding, | |
| And under headway once more, | |
| The whole rebel fleet came rounding | 130 |
| The point. If we had it hot before, | |
| ’T was now, from shore to shore, | |
| One long, loud thundering roar— | |
| Such crashing, splintering, and pounding, | |
| And smashing as you never heard before! | 135 |
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| 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! | |
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| For all above was battle, | 140 |
| 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. | 145 |
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| 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, | 150 |
| There were thirteen traitor hulls | |
| On fire and sinking! | |
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