Classic Poem

Ah , yes—the fight! Well, messmates, well!
I served aboard that Ninety-eight;
Yet what I saw I loathe to tell.
To-night, be sure a crushing weight
Upon my sleeping breast, a hell
Of dread, will sit. At any rate,
Though land-locked here, a watch I 'll keep.
Grog cheers us still. Who cares for sleep?

That Ninety-eight I sailed aboard.
Along the Frenchman's coast we flew;
Right aft the rising tempest roared;
A noble first-rate hove in view;
And soon high in the gale there soared
Her streamed-out bunting—red, white, blue!
We cleared for fight, and landward bore,
To get between the chase and shore.

Masters, I cannot spin a yarn
Twice laid with words of silken stuff.
A fact 's a fact; and ye may larn
The rights o' this, though wild and rough
My words may loom. 'T is your consarn,
Not mine, to understand. Enough:—
We neared the Frenchman where he lay,
And as we neared, he blazed away.

We tacked, hove to; we filled, we wore;
Did all that seamanship could do
To rake him aft, or by the fore—
Now rounded off, and now broached to;
And now our starboard broadside bore,
And showers of iron through and through
His vast hull hissed; our larboard then
Swept from his threefold decks his men.

As we, like a huge serpent, coiled,
And wound about, through that wild sea,
The Frenchman each manœuvre foiled—
'Vantage to neither there could be.
Whilst thus the waves between us boiled,
We both resolved right manfully
To fight it side by side:—Began
Then the fierce strife of man to man.

Gun bellows forth to gun, and Pain
Rings out her wild, delirious scream!
Redoubling thunders shake the main.
Loud crashing, falls the shot-rent beam.
The timbers with the broadsides strain.
The slippery decks send up a steam
From hot and living blood; and high
And shrill is heard the death-pang cry.

The shredded limb, the splintered bone,
Th' unstiffened corpse, now block the way.
Who now can hear the dying groan?
The trumpet of the Judgment Day,
Had it pealed forth its mighty tone,
We should not then have heard—to say
Would be rank sin; but this I tell,
That could alone our madness quell.

Upon the forecastle I fought
As captain of the for'ad gun.
A scattering shot the carriage caught!
What mother then had known her son
Of those who stood around?—Distraught,
And smeared with gore, about they run:
Then fall, and writhe, and howling die!
But one escaped. That one was I!

Night darkened round, and the storm pealed.
To windward of us lay the foe.
As he to leeward over keeled,
He could not fight his guns below;
So just was going to strike—when reeled
Our vessel, as if some vast blow
From an Almighty hand had rent
The huge ship from her element.

Then howled the thunder. Tumult then
Had stunned herself to silence. Round
Were scattered lightning-blasted men!
Our mainmast went. All stifled, drowned,
Arose the Frenchman's shout. Again
The bolt burst on us—and we found
Our masts all gone, our decks all riven:
—Man's war mocks faintly that of Heaven!

Just then—Nay, messmates, laugh not now—
As I, amazed, one minute stood
Amidst that rout—I know not how—
'T was silence all—the raving flood,
The guns that pealed from stern to bow,
And God's own thunder—nothing could
I then of all that tumult hear,
Nor see aught of that scene of fear.

My aged mother at her door
Sat mildly o'er her humming wheel;
The cottage, orchard, and the moor—
I saw them plainly all. I 'll kneel,
And swear I saw them! Oh, they wore
A look all peace! Could I but feel
Again that bliss that then I felt,
That made my heart, like childhood's, melt!

The blessed tear was on my cheek—
She smiled with that old smile I know:
“Turn to me, mother! turn and speak!”
Was on my quivering lips—when lo
All vanished, and a dark, red streak
Glared wild and vivid from the foe,
That flashed upon the blood-stained water;
For fore and aft the flames had caught her.

She struck, and hailed us. On us fast,
All burning, helplessly, she came—
Near, and more near; and not a mast
Had we to help us from that flame.
'T was then the bravest stood aghast;
'T was then the wicked, on the name
(With danger and with guilt appalled),
Of God, too long neglected, called.

The eddying flames with ravening tongue
Now on our ship's dark bulwarks dash—
We almost touched; when ocean rung
Down to its depths with one loud crash!
In heaven's top vault one instant hung
The vast, intense, and blinding flash!
Then all was darkness, stillness, dread—
The wave moaned o'er the valiant dead.

She 's gone! blown up! that gallant foe!
And though she left us in a plight,
We floated still; long were, I know,
And hard, the labors of that night
To clear the wreck. At length in tow
A frigate took us, when 't was light;
And soon an English port we gained—
A hulk all battered and blood-stained.

So many slain—so many drowned!
I like not of that fight to tell.
Come, let the cheerful grog go round!
Messmates, I 've done. A spell, ho! spell!
Though a pressed man, I 'll still be found
To do a seaman's duty well.
I wish our brother landsmen knew
One half we jolly tars go through.