James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
June 3Sinking the Merrimac
By Joe ConeI
While an awful silence fell;
Straight for the monsters dark and grim,
Glutted with shot and shell.
Scarcely a whispered breath;
On, on towards Santiago,
On to success or—death.
Old Morro guarding the bay;
Waiting with limbered Hontorias,
Waiting for a hated prey.
Leaving a tell-tale track,
Into the sharp curved channel
Swept the bold Merrimac.
A launch—they see us—’tis bad!
A shot—three pounder—they’re fighting,
God, is the tiny thing mad?”
The enemy sprang to their arms;
The fleet and the forts awakened,
The night was rent with alarms.
Her helm she would not obey;
For the nosing, pursuing picket
Had shot her rudder away!
Shot and shell from shore and shore;
Torpedoes and mines upheaving,
A deafening, hellish roar;
Closer the missles fell;
Guns flashed, and the darkness opened
Like gaps in a roaring hell
Must be ground beneath the tide,
But the God of War directed,
And the angry shots flew wide.
Teeth set and brave to a man;
“On deck!” rang the clear, sharp order,
“Cut loose the catamaran!”
When all was well with his crew,
Accomplished in one hurried moment
What the enemy failed to do.
With a hot, spasmodic breath,
The Merrimac heaved in the middle
And sank to her glorious death.
And the firing died away;
And they found eight floating heroes
On a raft at break of day.
For the God of War had planned,
And the Prince of the Spanish navy
Bore them in safety to land.
Of valor there is no lack;
But none have been greater, braver,
Than the dash of the Merrimac.