The ponderous pistons urge like fate, The red-throat furnaces roar elate, And the sweating stokers stagger and swoon In a heat more fierce than hate. So through the dark we stole our way Past the grim warders and into the bay, Past Kalibuyo, and past Salinas,-- And came at the break of day Where strong Cavité stood to oppose,-- Where, from a sheen of silver and rose, A thronging of masts, a soaring of towers, The beautiful city arose. How fine and fair! But the shining air With a thousand shattered thunders there Flapped and reeled. For the fighting foe-- We had caught him in his lair. Surprised, unready, his proud ships lay Idly at anchor in Bakor Bay:-- Unready, surprised, but proudly bold, Which was ever the Spaniard’s way. Then soon on his pride the dread doom fell, Red doom,--for the ruin of shot and shell Lit every vomiting, bursting hulk With a crimson reek of hell. But to the brave though beaten, hail! All hail to them that dare and fail! To the dauntless boat that charged our fleet And sank in the iron hail! * * * * * Manila Bay! Manila Bay! How proud the song on our lips to-day! A brave old song of the true and strong, And the will that has its way; Of the blood that told in the days of Drake When the fight was good for the fighting’s sake! For the blood that fathered Farragut Is the blood that fathered Blake; And the pride of the blood will not be undone While war’s in the world and a fight to be won. For the master now, as the master of old, Is “the man behind the gun.” The dominant blood that daunts the foe, That laughs at odds, and leaps to the blow,-- It is Dewey’s glory to-day, as Nelson’s A hundred years ago! CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS. (By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.) 50 DEWEY AT MANILA ’Twas the very verge of May When the bold _Olympia_ led Into Bocagrande gray Dewey’s squadron, dark and dread,-- Creeping past Corregidor, Guardian of Manila’s shore. Do they sleep who wait the fray? Is the moon so dazzling bright That our cruisers’ battle-gray Melts into the misty light?... Ah! the rockets flash and soar! Wakes at last Corregidor! All too late their screaming shell Tears the silence with its track; This is but the _gate_ of hell, We’ve no leisure to turn back. Answer, _Boston_--then once more Slumber on, Corregidor! And as, like a slowing tide, Onward still the vessels creep, Dewey, watching, falcon-eyed, Orders--“Let the gunners sleep; For we meet a foe at four Fiercer than Corregidor.”