She reached our range.

Our broadside rang,

Our heavy pivots roared;

And shot and shell, a fire of hell,
Against her sides we poured.

God's mercy! from her sloping roof
The iron tempest glanced,

As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch,
And round her leaped and danced;

Or when against her dusky hull
We struck a fair, full blow,
The mighty, solid iron globes
Were crumbled up like snow.

On, on, with fast increasing speed,
The silent monster came;
Though all our starboard battery
Was one long line of flame.

She heeded not, no gun she fired,
Straight on our bow she bore;
Through riving plank and crashing frame
Her furious way she tore.

Alas! our beautiful, keen bow,
That in the fiercest blast
So gently folded back the seas,
They hardly felt we passed!

Alas! alas! my Cumberland,
That ne'er knew grief before,
To be so gored, to feel so deep
The tusk of that sea-boar!

Once more she backward drew a space,
Once more our side she rent;

ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND.

Then, in the wantonness of hate,
Her broadside through us sent.

The dead and dying round us lay,
But our foeman lay abeam;
Her open port-holes maddened us;
We fired with shout and scream.

We felt our vessel settling fast,
We knew our time was brief;

87

"The pumps, the pumps!" But they who pumped, And fought not, wept with grief.

"Oh, keep us but an hour afloat!
Oh, give us only time

To be the instruments of Heaven
Against the traitors' crime!"

From captain down to powder-boy,
No hand was idle then;

Two soldiers, but by chance aboard,
Fought on like sailor-men.

And when a gun's crew lost a hand,
Some bold marine stepped out,
And jerked his braided jacket off,
And hauled the gun about.

Our forward magazine was drowned;

And up from the sick-bay

Crawled out the wounded, red with blood,

And round us gasping lay.

Yes, cheering, calling us by name,
Struggling with failing breath,

To keep their shipmates at the post
Where glory strove with death.

With decks afloat, and powder gone,

The last broadside we gave From the guns' heated iron lips Burst out beneath the wave.

So sponges, rammers, and handspikes
As men-of-war's-men should -

We placed within their proper racks,
And at our quarters stood.

"Up to the spar-deck! save yourselves!"

God grant that some of us may live

To fight yon ship again!'

We turned

we did not like to go;

Yet staying seemed but vain,

Knee-deep in water; so we left;

Some swore, some groaned with pain.

Brave Randall leaped upon the gun,
And waved his cap in sport;

"Well done! well aimed! I saw that shell
Go through an open port."

It was our last, our deadliest shot;

The deck was overflown;

ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND.

The poor ship staggered, lurched to port,
And gave a living groan.

Down, down, as headlong through the waves
Our gallant vessel rushed,

A thousand gurgling, watery sounds
Around my senses gushed.

Then I remember little more;
One look to heaven I gave,
Where, like an angel's wing, I saw
Our spotless ensign wave.

I tried to cheer. I cannot say
Whether I swam or sank;

A blue mist closed around my eyes,
And everything was blank.

When I awoke, a soldier-lad,

All dripping from the sea,

With two great tears upon his cheeks,
Was bending over me.

I tried to speak. He understood
The wish I could not speak.

He turned me. There, thank God! the flag
Still fluttered at the peak!

And there, while thread shall hang to thread,
Oh, let that ensign fly!

The noblest constellation set

Against our northern sky.

A sign that we who live may claim
The peerage of the brave;

A monument, that needs no scroll

For those beneath the wave!

89

MARCHING ALONG.*

BY WILLIAM B. BRADBURY.

THE army is gathering from near and from far;
The trumpet is sounding the call for the war;
McClellan 's our leader, he 's gallant and strong;
We'll gird on our armor and be marching along.

CHORUS.

Marching along, we are marching along,
Gird on the armor and be marching along;
McClellan 's our leader, he 's gallant and strong;
For God and our country we are marching along.

The foe is before us in battle array,

But let us not waver, or turn from the way;
The Lord is our strength, and the Union 's our song;
With courage and faith we are marching along.
Chorus Marching along, &c.

Our wives and our children we leave in your care;
We feel you will help them with sorrow to bear;
'Tis hard thus to part, but we hope 't won't be long;
We'll keep up our hearts as we 're marching along.
Chorus - Marching along, &c.

We sigh for our country, we mourn for our dead;
For them now our last drop of blood we will shed;

* Few songs were more truly popular all through the war than this, which is here printed from a street broadside. It was sung in the streets and at the public schools, and by all sorts and conditions of men. The name McClellan, in the first stanza, was successively replaced by Hooker, Meade, and Grant, with "for," prefixed when necessary to eke out the measure. A vigorous and spirited melody, with a well-marked rhythm, which was particularly good in the chorus, contributed much to the universal favor in which this song was held.