Cæsar, afloat with his fortunes!
And all the world agog
Straining its eyes
At a thing that lies
In the water, like a log!
It's a weasel! a whale!
I see its tail!
It's a porpoise! a pollywog!
Tarnation! it's a turtle!
And blast my bones and skin,
My hearties, sink her,
Or else you'll think her
A regular terror-pin!
The frigate poured a broadside!
The bombs they whistled well,
But—hit old Nick
With a sugar stick!
It didn't phase her shell!
Piff, from the creature's larboard—
And dipping along the water
A bullet hissed
From a wreath of mist
Into a Doodle's quarter!
Raff, from the creature's starboard—
Rip, from his ugly snorter,
And the Congress and
The Cumberland
Sunk, and nothing—shorter.
Now, here's to you, Virginia,
And you are bound to win!
By your rate of bobbing round
And your way of pitchin' in—
For you are a cross
Of the old sea-hoss
And a regular terror-pin.
At Newport News lay the United States 50-gun frigate Congress, the 24-gun sloop Cumberland, and the frigates St. Lawrence, Roanoke, and Minnesota. In command of the Cumberland was Lieutenant George Upham Morris, and at noon the Merrimac was seen from the Cumberland's deck advancing to the attack. Shot and shell were poured upon her without effect. She steamed straight on and plunged her ram into the Cumberland's side. Morris fought his ship until she sank under him.
THE ATTACK
[March 8, 1862]
In Hampton Roads, the airs of March were bland,
Peace on the deck and in the fortress sleeping,
Till, in the look-out of the Cumberland,
The sailor, with his well-poised glass in hand,
Descried the iron island downward creeping.