Beneath the everlasting stars We bended child-like knees, And thanked God for the shining scars Of His large victories. And some, who lingered, said they heard Such wondrous music pass As though a seraph’s voice had stirred The pulses of the grass. RICHARD REALF. (From _Poems_, by Richard Realf. Copyright, Funk and Wagnalls Company, 1898. By special permission.) 17 BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER Ebbed and flowed the muddy Pei-Ho by the Gulf of Pechi-Li, Near its waters swung the yellow dragon-flag; Past the batteries of China, looking westward we could see Lazy junks along the lazy river lag; Villagers in near-by Ta-Kou toiled beneath their humble star, On the flats the ugly mud-fort lay and dreamed; While the _Powhatan_ swung slowly at her station by the bar, While the _Toey-Wan_ with Tattnall onward steamed. Lazy East and lazy river, fort of mud in lazy June, English gunboats through the waters slowly fare, With the dragon-flag scarce moving in the lazy afternoon O’er the mud-heap storing venom in the glare. We were on our way to Pekin, to the Son of Heaven’s throne, White with peace was all our mission to his court; Peaceful, too, the English vessels on the turbid waters strown, Seeking passage up to Pekin past the fort. By the bar lay half the English, while the rest with gallant Hope Wrestled with the slipping ebb-tide up the stream; They had cleared the Chinese irons, reached the doubled chain and rope Where the ugly mud-fort scowled upon their beam;-- Crash! the heavens split asunder with the thunder of the fight As the hateful dragon made its faith a mock; Every cannon spat its perfidy, each casemate blazed its spite, Dashing down upon the English, shock on shock. In his courage Rason perished, bold McKenna fought and fell, Scores were dying as they’d lived, like valiant men; And the meteor flag that upward prayed to heaven from that hell Wept below for those who ne’er should weep again. Far away the English launches near the _Powhatan_ swung slow, All despairing, useless, out of reach of war, Saw their comrades in the battle, saw them reel beneath the blow, Lying helpless ’gainst the ebb-tide by the bar. On the _Toey-Wan_ stood Tattnall, Stephen Trenchard at his side,-- “Old Man” Tattnall, he who dared at Vera Cruz,-- Saw here, crippled by the cannon, saw there, throttled by the tide, Men of English blood and speech: Could he refuse? “I’ll be damned,” says he to Trenchard, “if ‘Old’ Tattnall’s standing by Seeing white men butchered here by such a foe! Where’s my barge? No side-arms, mind you! See the English fight and die! Blood is thicker, sir, than water. Let us go!”