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NIGHT-QUARTERS.
Tang! tang! went the gong's wild roar
Through the hundred cells of our great Sea-Hive!
Five seconds—it couldn't be more—
And the whole Swarm was humming and alive—
(We were on an enemy's shore).
Through the hundred cells of our great Sea-Hive!
Five seconds—it couldn't be more—
And the whole Swarm was humming and alive—
(We were on an enemy's shore).
With savage haste, in the dark,
(Our steerage hadn't a spark,)
Into boot and hose they blundered—
From for'ard came a strange, low roar,
The dull and smothered racket
Of lower rig and jacket
Hurried on, by the hundred—
How the berth deck buzzed and swore!
(Our steerage hadn't a spark,)
Into boot and hose they blundered—
From for'ard came a strange, low roar,
The dull and smothered racket
Of lower rig and jacket
Hurried on, by the hundred—
How the berth deck buzzed and swore!
66
The third of minutes ten,
And half a thousand men,
From the dream-gulf, dead and deep,
Of the seaman's measured sleep,
In the taking of a lunar,
In the serving of a ration,
Every man at his station!—
Three and a quarter, or sooner!
Never a skulk to be seen—
From the look-out aloft to the gunner
Lurking in his black magazine.
And half a thousand men,
From the dream-gulf, dead and deep,
Of the seaman's measured sleep,
In the taking of a lunar,
In the serving of a ration,
Every man at his station!—
Three and a quarter, or sooner!
Never a skulk to be seen—
From the look-out aloft to the gunner
Lurking in his black magazine.
There they stand, still as death,
And, (a trifle out of breath,
It may be,) we of the Staff,
All on the poop, to a minute,
Wonder if there's anything in it—
Doubting if to growl or laugh.
And, (a trifle out of breath,
It may be,) we of the Staff,
All on the poop, to a minute,
Wonder if there's anything in it—
Doubting if to growl or laugh.
But, somehow, every hand
Feels for hilt and brand,
Tries if buckle and frog be tight—
So, in the chilly breeze, we stand
Peering through the dimness of the night—
The men, by twos and ones,
Grim and silent at the guns,
Ready, if a Foe heave in sight!
Feels for hilt and brand,
Tries if buckle and frog be tight—
So, in the chilly breeze, we stand
Peering through the dimness of the night—
The men, by twos and ones,
Grim and silent at the guns,
Ready, if a Foe heave in sight!
But, as we looked aloft,
There, all white and soft,
Floated on the fleecy clouds,
(Stray flocks in heaven's blue croft)—
How they shone, the eternal stars,
'Mid the black masts and spars
And the great maze of lifts and shrouds!
There, all white and soft,
67
(Stray flocks in heaven's blue croft)—
How they shone, the eternal stars,
'Mid the black masts and spars
And the great maze of lifts and shrouds!
Flag Ship Hartford, May, 1864.
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