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and twice she fired,

       Till the bow-gun drooped like a lily tired

       That lolls upon the stalk.

      "Captain, the bow-gun melts apace,

       The deck-beams break below,

       'Twere well to rest for an hour or twain,

       And patch the shattered plates again."

       And he answered, "Make it so."

      She opened fire within the mile—

       As ye shoot at the flying duck—

       And the great stern-gun shot fair and true,

       With the heave of the ship, to the stainless blue,

       And the great stern-turret stuck.

      "Captain, the turret fills with steam,

       The feed-pipes burst below—

       You can hear the hiss of the helpless ram,

       You can hear the twisted runners jam."

       And he answered, "Turn and go!"

      It was our war-ship Clampherdown,

       And grimly did she roll;

       Swung round to take the cruiser's fire

       As the White Whale faces the Thresher's ire

       When they war by the frozen Pole.

      "Captain, the shells are falling fast,

       And faster still fall we;

       And it is not meet for English stock

       To bide in the heart of an eight-day clock

       The death they cannot see."

      "Lie down, lie down, my bold A.B.,

       We drift upon her beam;

       We dare not ram, for she can run;

       And dare ye fire another gun,

       And die in the peeling steam?"

      It was our war-ship Clampherdown

       That carried an armour-belt;

       But fifty feet at stern and bow

       Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow,

       To the hail of the Nordenfeldt.

      "Captain, they hack us through and through;

       The chilled steel bolts are swift!

       We have emptied the bunkers in open sea,

       Their shrapnel bursts where our coal should be."

       And he answered, "Let her drift."

      It was our war-ship Clampherdown,

       Swung round upon the tide,

       Her two dumb guns glared south and north,

       And the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth,

       And she ground the cruiser's side.

      "Captain, they cry, the fight is done,

       They bid you send your sword."

       And he answered, "Grapple her stern and bow.

       They have asked for the steel. They shall have it now;

       Out cutlasses and board!"

      It was our war-ship Clampherdown

       Spewed up four hundred men;

       And the scalded stokers yelped delight,

       As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight

       Stamp o'er their steel-walled pen.

      They cleared the cruiser end to end,

       From conning-tower to hold.

       They fought as they fought in Nelson's fleet;

       They were stripped to the waist, they were bare to the feet,

       As it was in the days of old.

      It was the sinking Clampherdown

       Heaved up her battered side—

       And carried a million pounds in steel,

       To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel,

       And the scour of the Channel tide.

      It was the crew of the Clampherdown

       Stood out to sweep the sea,

       On a cruiser won from an ancient foe,

       As it was in the days of long ago,

       And as it still shall be.

       Table of Contents

      Seven men from all the world, back to Docks again,

       Rolling down the Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain:

       Give the girls another drink 'fore we sign away—

       We that took the Bolivar out across the Bay!

      We put out from Sunderland loaded down with rails;

       We put back to Sunderland 'cause our cargo shifted;

       We put out from Sunderland—met the winter gales—

       Seven days and seven nights to the Start we drifted.

      Racketing her rivets loose, smoke-stack white as snow,

       All the coals adrift adeck, half the rails below,

       Leaking like a lobster-pot, steering like a dray—

       Out we took the Bolivar, out across the Bay!

      One by one the Lights came up, winked and let us by;

       Mile by mile we waddled on, coal and fo'c'sle short;

       Met a blow that laid us down, heard a bulkhead fly;

       Left the Wolf behind us with a two-foot list to port.

      Trailing like a wounded duck, working out her soul;

      

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