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102 ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND.
Then, in the wantonness of hate, Her broadside through us sent.
The dead and dying round us lay,
But our foemen lay abeam ; Her open port-holes maddened us ;
We fired with shout and scream.
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!
Oh ! give us only time To be the instruments of Heaven
Against the traitors' crime! "
From captain down to powder-boy,
No hand was idle then ; Two soldiers, but by chance aboard,
Fought on like sailor-men.
And when a gun's crew lost a hand,
Some bold marine stepped out, And jerked his braided jacket off,
And hauled the gun about. |
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