“If we’re worsted in the fight,
We shall perish in the right—
No hand will wipe the dews of death away.
The wounded none will tend,
For we’ve not a single friend;
But we’ll beard the ships of Spain in their own bay.
“No ironclads we sail,
Only cruisers light and frail,
With no armor plates to turn the shells away.
All the battleships now steer