RUNNING THE BATTERIES.
(As observed from the anchorage above Vicksburg, April, 1863.)
By HERMAN MELVILLE.
We felt the dew, and seemed to feel The secret like a burden laid. The first boat melts; and a second keel Is blent with the foliaged shade— Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made?
Unspied as yet. A third—a fourth— Gunboat and transport in Indian file Upon the war-path, smooth from the North; But the watch may they hope to beguile? The manned river-batteries stretch far mile on mile.
A flame leaps out; they are seen; Another and another gun roars; We tell the course of the boats through the screen By each further fort that pours, And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores.
Converging fires. We speak, though low: “That blastful furnace can they thread?” “Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego Came out all right, we read; The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned.”
How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun A golden growing flame appears— Confirms to a silvery steadfast one: “The town is afire!” crows Hugh; “three cheers!” Lot stops his mouth: “Nay, lad, better three tears.”