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 | Leaves of grass. |  |
35
223 Would you hear of an
old-fashion'd sea-fight?
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
List to the story as my grandmother's father, the sailor, told it to me.
224 Our foe was no skulk in
his ship, I tell you, (said he;)
His was the surly English pluck — and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be;
Along the lower'd eve he came, horribly raking us.
225 We closed with him — the yards entangled — the cannon touch'd;
My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.
226 We had receiv'd some eighteen-pound shots under the water;
On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around, and blowing up overhead.
227 Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark;
Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported;
The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold, to give tem a chance for them- selves.
228 The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels,
They see so many strange faces, they do not know whom to trust.
229 Our frigate takes fire ;
The other asks if we demand quarter?
If our colors are struck, and the fighting is done?
230 Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, (says my grandmother's father ;)
We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting.
231 Only three guns are in
use ;
One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast ;
Two, well served with grape and canister, silence his musketry and clear his decks.
232 The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top ;
They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.
233 Not a moment's cease ;
The leaks gain fast on the pumps — the fire eats toward the powder-magazine ;
One of the pumps has been shot away — it is generally thought we are sinking.
234 Serene stands the little captain ;
He is not hurried — his voice is neither high nor low ;
His eyes give more light to us than our battle- lanterns.
235 Toward twelve at night, there in the beams of the moon, they surrender to us.
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
List to the story as my grandmother's father, the sailor, told it to me.
71
His was the surly English pluck — and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be;
Along the lower'd eve he came, horribly raking us.
225 We closed with him — the yards entangled — the cannon touch'd;
My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.
226 We had receiv'd some eighteen-pound shots under the water;
On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around, and blowing up overhead.
227 Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark;
Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported;
The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold, to give tem a chance for them- selves.
228 The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels,
They see so many strange faces, they do not know whom to trust.
229 Our frigate takes fire ;
The other asks if we demand quarter?
If our colors are struck, and the fighting is done?
230 Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, (says my grandmother's father ;)
We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting.
72
One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast ;
Two, well served with grape and canister, silence his musketry and clear his decks.
232 The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top ;
They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.
233 Not a moment's cease ;
The leaks gain fast on the pumps — the fire eats toward the powder-magazine ;
One of the pumps has been shot away — it is generally thought we are sinking.
234 Serene stands the little captain ;
He is not hurried — his voice is neither high nor low ;
His eyes give more light to us than our battle- lanterns.
235 Toward twelve at night, there in the beams of the moon, they surrender to us.
| Leaves of grass. | |