The Oregon, which had arrived from her fifteen-thousand-mile voyage from San Francisco, also took a conspicuous part in the battle, and did splendid service.
THE RUSH OF THE OREGON
They held her South to Magellan's mouth,
Then East they steered her, forth
Through the farther gate of the crafty strait,
And then they held her North.
Six thousand miles to the Indian Isles!
And the Oregon rushed home,
Her wake a swirl of jade and pearl,
Her bow a bend of foam.
And when at Rio the cable sang,
"There is war!—grim war with Spain!"
The swart crews grinned and stroked their guns
And thought on the mangled Maine.
In the glimmered gloom of the engine-room
There was joy to each grimy soul,
And fainting men sprang up again
And piled the blazing coal.
Good need was there to go with care:
But every sailor prayed
Or gun for gun, or six to one
To meet them, unafraid.
Her goal at last! With joyous blast
She hailed the welcoming roar
Of hungry sea-wolves curved along
The strong-hilled Cuban shore.
Long nights went by. Her beamèd eye,
Unwavering, searched the bay
Where trapped and penned for a certain end
The Spanish squadron lay.
Out of the harbor a curl of smoke—
A watchful gun rang clear.
Out of the channel the squadron broke
Like a bevy of frightened deer.