On, in the whirling shade Of the cannon's sulphury breath, We drew to the Line of Death That our devilish Foe had laid-- Meshed in a horrible net, And baited villainous well, Right in our path were set Three hundred traps of hell! And there, O sight forlorn! There, while the cannon Hurtled and thundered-- (Ah, what ill raven Flapped o'er the ship that morn!)-- Caught by the under-death, In the drawing of a breath, Down went dauntless Craven, He and his hundred! A moment we saw her turret, A little heel she gave, And a thin white spray went o'er her, Like the crest of a breaking wave-- In that great iron coffin, The channel for their grave, The fort their monument, (Seen afar in the offing,) Ten fathom deep lie Craven, And the bravest of our brave. Then, in that deadly track, A little the ships held back, Closing up in their stations-- There are minutes that fix the fate Of battles and of nations (Christening the generations,) When valor were all too late, If a moment's doubt be harbored From the main-top, bold and brief, Came the word of our grand old Chief-- "Go on!"--'twas all he said-- Our helm was put to the starboard, And the Hartford passed ahead. Ahead lay the Tennessee, On our starboard bow he lay, With his mail-clad consorts three, (The rest had run up the Bay)-- There he was, belching flame from his bow, And the steam from his throat's abyss Was a Dragon's maddened hiss-- In sooth a most cursed craft!-- In a sullen ring at bay By the Middle Ground they lay, Raking us fore and aft. Trust me, our berth was hot, Ah, wickedly well they shot; How their death-bolts howled and stung! And the water-batteries played With their deadly cannonade Till the air around us rung; So the battle raged and roared-- Ah, had you been aboard To have seen the fight we made! How they leaped, the tongues of flame, From the cannon's fiery lip! How the broadsides, deck and frame, Shook the great ship! And how the enemy's shell Came crashing, heavy and oft, Clouds of splinters flying aloft And falling in oaken showers-- But ah, the pluck of the crew! Had you stood on that deck of ours You had seen what men may do. Still, as the fray grew louder, Boldly they worked and well; Steadily came the powder, Steadily came the shell. And if tackle or truck found hurt, Quickly they cleared the wreck; And the dead were laid to port, All a-row, on our deck. Never a nerve that failed, Never a cheek that paled, Not a tinge of gloom or pallor-- There was bold Kentucky's grit, And the old Virginian valor, And the daring Yankee wit.