The tall masts of the _Chesapeake_ went groaning by the board; The _Shannon’s_ spars were weak with scars when Broke cast down his sword: “Now woe,” he cried, “to England, and shame and woe to me!” The smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back to lee. “Give them one breaking broadside more,” he cried, “before we strike!” But one grim ball that ruined all for hope and home alike Laid Lawrence low in glory, yet from his pallid lip Rang to the land his last command: “Boys, don’t give up the ship!” * * * * * The wounded wept like women when they hauled her ensign down. Men’s cheeks were pale as with the tale from Hingham to the town They hurried swift in silence, while toward the eastern night The victor bore away from shore and vanished out of sight. Hail to the great ship _Chesapeake_! Hail to the hero brave Who fought her fast, and loved her last, and shared her sudden grave! And glory be to those that died, for all eternity; They lie apart at the mother-heart of God’s eternal sea. THOMAS TRACY BOUVÉ. (By special permission of the author, and of _The Youth’s Companion_.) 12 THE FIGHT OF THE “ARMSTRONG” PRIVATEER Tell the story to your sons Of the gallant days of yore, When the brig of seven guns Fought the fleet of seven score, From the set of sun till morn, through the long September night-- Ninety men against two thousand, and the ninety won the fight In the harbor of Fayal the Azore. Three lofty British ships came a-sailing to Fayal: One was a line-of-battle ship, and two were frigates tall; Nelson’s valiant men of war, brave as Britons ever are, Manned the guns they served so well at Aboukir and Trafalgar. Lord Dundonald and his fleet at Jamaica far away Waited eager for their coming, fretted sore at their delay. There was loot for British valor on the Mississippi coast In the beauty and the booty that the Creole cities boast; There were rebel knaves to swing, there were prisoners to bring Home in fetters to old England for the glory of the King! At the setting of the sun and the ebbing of the tide Came the great ships one by one, with their portals opened wide, And their cannon frowning down on the castle and the town And the privateer that lay close inside; Came the eighteen-gun _Carnation_, and the _Rota_, forty-four, And the triple-decked _Plantagenet_ an Admiral’s pennon bore; And the privateer grew smaller as their topmasts towered taller, And she bent her springs and anchored by the castle on the shore.