O Lawrence, whose passing cry
Grows ever the more sublime,
And thou, O Nile King, whose words shall die
When we learn of the death of time,
We send you the third of a glorious three;
We send you a battle shout
That echoes up from the blood-thick sea
And up from the wreck and rout
And down from the staff on the high cross-tree
Where the flag is signalling out:
"Keep on."
The war-path is true and straight,
It knoweth no left or right;
Mars loves not the man who would deviate,—
For the way to fight is to fight.
A shot from Corregidor and another from El Fraile told that the fleet was discovered, but the ships glided quietly on, and at dawn the Spanish fleet was seen anchored under the batteries of Cavité. Dewey steamed straight for them; the Spanish ships were sunk, one after another, by the deadly fire of the American gunners, and by noon the Spanish fleet had been destroyed, the shore batteries silenced, and a white flag floated over the citadel of Cavité. Dewey had not lost a man, and had won the greatest naval battle since Trafalgar.
DEWEY AT MANILA
[May 1, 1898]
'Twas the very verge of May
When the bold Olympia led
Into [Bocagrande] Bay
Dewey's squadron, dark and dread,—
Creeping past Corregidor,
Guardian of Manila's shore.
Do they sleep who wait the fray?
Is the moon so dazzling bright
That our cruisers' battle-gray
Melts into the misty light?...
Ah! the red flash and the roar!
Wakes at last Corregidor!
All too late their screaming shell
Tears the silence with its track;
This is but the gate of hell,
We've no leisure to turn back.
Answer, Concord!—then once more
Slumber on, Corregidor!
And as, like a slowing tide,
Onward still the vessels creep,
Dewey, watching, falcon-eyed,
Orders,—"Let the gunners sleep;
For we meet a foe at four
Fiercer than Corregidor."
Well they slept, for well they knew
What the morrow taught us all,—
He was wise (as well as true)
Thus upon the foe to fall.
Long shall Spain the day deplore
Dewey ran Corregidor.