_By the beard of the Prophet the Bashaw swore_ _He would scourge us from the seas;_ _Yankees should trouble his soul no more--_ _By the Prophet’s beard the Bashaw swore._ _Then lighted his hookah, and took his ease,_ _And troubled his soul no more._ BARRETT EASTMAN. (By special permission of the author.) 11 THE “SHANNON” AND THE “CHESAPEAKE” The captain of the _Shannon_ came sailing up the bay, A reeling wind flung out behind his pennons bright and gay; His cannon crashed a challenge; the smoke that hid the sea Was driven hard to windward and drifted back to lee. The captain of the _Shannon_ sent word into the town: Was Lawrence there, and would he dare to sail his frigate down And meet him at the harbor’s mouth and fight him, gun to gun, For honor’s sake, with pride at stake, until the fight was won? Now, long the gallant Lawrence had scoured the bitter main; With many a scar and wound of war his ship was home again; His crew, relieved from service, were scattered far and wide, And scarcely one, his duty done, had lingered by his side. But to refuse the challenge? Could he outlive the shame? Brave men and true, but deadly few, he gathered to his fame. Once more the great ship _Chesapeake_ prepared her for the fight,-- “I’ll bring the foe to town in tow,” he said, “before to-night!” High on the hills of Hingham that overlook the shore, To watch the fray and hope and pray, for they could do no more, The children of the country watched the children of the sea When the smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back to lee. “How can he fight,” they whispered, “with only half a crew, Though they be rare to do and dare, yet what can brave men do?” But when the _Chesapeake_ came down, the Stars and Stripes on high, Stilled was each fear, and cheer on cheer resounded to the sky. The captain of the _Shannon_, he swore both long and loud: “This victory, where’er it be, shall make two nations proud! Now onward to this victory or downward to defeat! A sailor’s life is sweet with strife, a sailor’s death as sweet.” And as when lightnings rend the sky and gloomy thunders roar, And crashing surge plays devil’s dirge upon the stricken shore, With thunder and with sheets of flame the two ships rang with shot, And every gun burst forth a sun of iron crimson-hot. And twice they lashed together and twice they tore apart, And iron balls burst wooden walls and pierced each oaken heart. Still from the hills of Hingham men watched with hopes and fears, While all the bay was torn that day with shot that rained like tears.