Ahead lay the Tennessee, On our starboard bow he lay, With his mail-clad consorts three (The rest had run up the bay); There he was, belching flame from his bow, And the steam from his throat’s abyss Was a Dragon’s maddened hiss; In sooth a most cursed craft!— In a sullen ring, at bay, By the Middle-Ground they lay, Raking us fore and aft.
Trust me, our berth was hot, Ah, wickedly well they shot— How their death-bolts howled and stung! And the water-batteries played With their deadly cannonade Till the air around us rung; So the battle raged and roared;— Ah, had you been aboard To have seen the fight we made! How they leapt, the tongues of flame, From the cannon’s fiery lip! How the broadsides, deck and frame, Shook the great ship!
And how the enemy’s shell Came crashing, heavy and oft, Clouds of splinters flying aloft And falling in oaken showers;— But ah, the pluck of the crew! Had you stood on that deck of ours, You had seen what men may do.
Still, as the fray grew louder, Boldly they worked and well— Steadily came the powder, Steadily came the shell. And if tackle or truck found hurt, Quickly they cleared the wreck— And the dead were laid to port, All a-row, on our deck.
Never a nerve that failed, Never a cheek that paled, Not a tinge of gloom or pallor;— There was bold Kentucky’s grit, And the old Virginian valor, And the daring Yankee wit.
There were blue eyes from turfy Shannon, There were black orbs from palmy Niger,— But there alongside the cannon, Each man fought like a tiger!
A little, once, it looked ill, Our consort began to burn— They quenched the flames with a will, But our men were falling still, And still the fleet were astern.
Right abreast of the Fort In an awful shroud they lay, Broadsides thundering away, And lightning from every port; Scene of glory and dread! A storm-cloud all aglow With flashes of fiery red, The thunder raging below, And the forest of flags o’erhead!
So grand the hurly and roar, So fiercely their broadsides blazed, The regiments fighting ashore Forgot to fire as they gazed.
There, to silence the foe, Moving grimly and slow, They loomed in that deadly wreath, Where the darkest batteries frowned,— Death in the air all round, And the black torpedoes beneath!