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| DO you know of the dreary land, | |
| If land such region may seem, | |
| Where ’t is neither sea nor strand, | |
| Ocean nor good dry land, | |
| But the nightmare marsh of a dream? | 5 |
| Where the Mighty River his death-road takes, | |
| Mid pools and windings that coil like snakes, | |
| A hundred leagues of bayous and lakes, | |
| To die in the great Gulf Stream? | |
| |
| No coast-line clear and true, | 10 |
| Granite and deep-sea blue, | |
| On that dismal shore you pass, | |
| Surf-worn boulder or sandy beach,— | |
| But ooze-flats as far as the eye can reach, | |
| With shallows of water-grass; | 15 |
| Reedy savannas, vast and dun, | |
| Lying dead in the dim March sun; | |
| Huge rotting trunks and roots that lie | |
| Like the blackened bones of shapes gone by, | |
| And miles of sunken morass. | 20 |
| |
| No lovely, delicate thing | |
| Of life o’er the waste is seen; | |
| But the cayman, couched by his weedy spring, | |
| And the pelican, bird unclean, | |
| Or the buzzard, flapping with heavy wing, | 25 |
| Like an evil ghost o’er the desolate scene. | |
| |
| Ah! many a weary day | |
| With our leader there we lay, | |
| In the sultry haze and smoke, | |
| Tugging our ships o’er the bar, | 30 |
| Till the spring was wasted far, | |
| Till his brave heart almost broke. | |
| For the sullen river seemed | |
| As if our intent he dreamed,— | |
| All his sallow mouths did spew and choke. | 35 |
| |
| But ere April fully passed, | |
| All ground was over at last, | |
| And we knew the die was cast,— | |
| Knew the day drew nigh | |
| To dare to the end one stormy deed, | 40 |
| Might save the land at her sorest need, | |
| Or on the old deck to die! * * * * * | |
| Would you hear of the River Fight? | |
| It was two of a soft spring night; | |
| God’s stars looked down on all; | 45 |
| And all was clear and bright | |
| But the low fog’s clinging breath: | |
| Up the River of Death | |
| Sailed the Great Admiral. | |
| |
| On our high poop-deck he stood, | 50 |
| And round him ranged the men | |
| Who have made their birthright good | |
| Of manhood once and again,— | |
| Lords of helm and of sail, | |
| Tried in tempest and gale, | 55 |
| Bronzed in battle and wreck. | |
| Bell and Bailey grandly led | |
| Each his line of the Blue and Red; | |
| Wainwright stood by our starboard rail; | |
| Thornton fought the deck. | 60 |
| |
| And I mind me of more than they, | |
| Of the youthful, steadfast ones, | |
| That have shown them worthy sons | |
| Of the seamen passed away. | |
| Tyson conned our helm that day; | 65 |
| Watson stood by his guns. | |
| |
| What thought our Admiral then, | |
| Looking down on his men? | |
| Since the terrible day,— | |
| (Day of renown and tears!) | 70 |
| When at anchor the Essex lay, | |
| Holding her foes at bay,— | |
| When a boy by Porter’s side he stood, | |
| Till deck and plank-shear were dyed with blood: | |
| ’T is half a hundred years,— | 75 |
| Half a hundred years to a day! | |
| |
| Who could fail with him? | |
| Who reckon of life or limb? | |
| Not a pulse but beat the higher! | |
| There had you seen, by the starlight dim, | 80 |
| Five hundred faces strong and grim: | |
| The Flag is going under fire! | |
| Right up by the fort, with her helm hard aport, | |
| The Hartford is going under fire! | |
| |
| The way to our work was plain. | 85 |
| Caldwell had broken the chain, | |
| (Two hulks swung down amain | |
| Soon as ’t was sundered). | |
| Under the night’s dark blue, | |
| Steering steady and true, | 90 |
| 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, | 95 |
| How they sprung, in the dim night haze, | |
| To their work of toil and of clamor! | |
| How the boarders, with sponge and rammer, | |
| And their captains, with cord and hammer, | |
| Kept every muzzle ablaze. | 100 |
| 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, | |
| ’T was lightning and black eclipse, | 105 |
| 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 | 110 |
| Still thundering with shell and mortar,— | |
| ’T was the mighty sound and form! | |
| |
| (Such you see in the far South, | |
| After long heat and drought, | |
| As day draws nigh to even, | 115 |
| 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, | 120 |
| 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,— | 125 |
| It was one of your long coal barges. | |
| (We had often had the like before.) | |
| ’T was coming down on us to larboard, | |
| Well in with the eastern shore; | |
| And our pilot, to let it pass round | 130 |
| (You may guess we never stopped to sound), | |
| Giving us a rank sheer to starboard, | |
| Ran the Flag hard and fast aground! | |
| |
| ’T was nigh abreast of the Upper Fort, | |
| And straightway a rascal Ram | 135 |
| (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,— | 140 |
| 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: | 145 |
| But these things are, somehow, shorter | |
| In the acting than in the telling; | |
| There was no singing out or yelling, | |
| Or any fussing and fretting, | |
| No stampede, in short; | 150 |
| But there we were, my lad, | |
| All afire on our port quarter, | |
| Hammocks ablaze in the netting, | |
| Flame spouting in at every port, | |
| Our Fourth Cutter burning at the davit | 155 |
| (No chance to lower away and save it). | |
| |
| In a twinkling the flames had risen | |
| Half-way to maintop and mizzen, | |
| Darting up the shrouds like snakes! | |
| Ah, how we clanked at the brakes, | 160 |
| And the deep steaming-pumps throbbed under, | |
| Sending a ceaseless flow. | |
| Our top-men, a dauntless crowd, | |
| Swarmed in rigging and shroud: | |
| There, (’t was a wonder!) | 165 |
| The burning ratlines and strands | |
| They quenched with their bare, hard hands; | |
| But the great guns below | |
| Never silenced their thunder! | |
| |
| At last, by backing and sounding, | 170 |
| 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, | |
| ’T was now, from shore to shore, | 175 |
| 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, | 180 |
| You might have deemed our long gun-deck | |
| Two hundred feet of hell! | |
| |
| For above all was battle, | |
| Broadside, and blaze, and rattle, | |
| Smoke and thunder alone; | 185 |
| (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, | 190 |
| Drearily blinking | |
| O’er the haze and the cannon-smoke, | |
| That ever such morning dulls,— | |
| There were thirteen traitor hulls | |
| On fire and sinking! | 195 |
| |
| Now, up the river!—though mad Chalmette | |
| Sputters a vain resistance yet. | |
| Small helm we gave her, our course to steer,— | |
| ’T was nicer work than you well would dream, | |
| With cant and sheer to keep her clear | 200 |
| 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! | 205 |
| 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, | 210 |
| (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! | 215 |
| 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!) | 220 |
| With wonder and with pity, | |
| What crowds we there espied | |
| Of dark and wistful faces, | |
| Mute in their toiling places, | |
| Strangely and sadly eyed. | 225 |
| 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 | 230 |
| 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, | 235 |
| In a dark and drenching rain | |
| (By this, ’t was pouring heavy), | |
| Stood a fierce and sullen train. | |
| A strange and frenzied time! | |
| There were scowling rage and pain, | 240 |
| Curses howls, and hisses, | |
| Out of hate’s black abysses,— | |
| Their courage and their crime | |
| All in vain,—all in vain! * * * * * | |
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