Part 7 (1/2)

BATTLE OF SANTIAGO BAY.

Just off the coast of an isle that lies Where silver'd, feathery palm-trees rise As if their branches would kiss the skies So blue, so far away; When woke each vale the Sabbath bell, On seas that gently rose and fell, Our nation's wars.h.i.+ps lay.

As dreamily, lazily basking, they In quiet tropical suns.h.i.+ne lay, In sight of a placid, sleeping bay, Where anch.o.r.ed the Spaniard's s.h.i.+ps, ”A big boat's coming from the bay!

The Spaniard's squadron comes this way!”

Came loud from a lookout's lips.

As one by one came the fleet of Spain Across the bay, toward the main, With hope in each bosom they once again Launched forth on open sea.

”Each man to his gun!” the commodore cried, And the wars.h.i.+ps plowed through the cloven tide, In the trail of the enemy.

”Full speed ahead! Open fire!”

The commodore's voice rose high'r and high'r, 'Midst smoke and flames to the enemy nigh'r, The gallant fleet plunged on.

The cannons poured forth fire and thunder, The great sh.e.l.ls cleft the waves asunder, As gun replied to gun.

Right through the hot h.e.l.l-fire and sh.e.l.l, Through mist and smoke and shot that fell O'er s.h.i.+p and boiling sea, pell-mell, Charged Freedom's heroes true.

For o'er the battle's smoke and fury Waved high the synonym of glory,-- The old ”Red, White and Blue.”

Great cras.h.i.+ng volleys, long and loud, Swept from the decks the Spaniards proud, Then wrapped their boats in a smoky shroud, And left them beached and burning.

Their decks in human blood were laved, O'er which the yellow banner waved So vauntingly that morning.

That eve the sunset's crimson ray Touched gently, softly, tenderly The waves that moaned where the lost fleet lay,-- The pride of Spain erstwhile,-- And crowned the man who climbed the height To plant ”Old Glory's” spangles bright On sun-kissed Cuba's Isle.

THE OLD MAN'S STORY.

We'd been a talkin'--me and Ma-- A deal about our Bill.

He wuz well nigh onto thirty, And gettin' older still.

He wa'n't a lazy lad, you see, Wuz tall and strong and big, But to accomplish anything He must git up and dig.

Next we sot out to talk of Sal; She wa'n't a hansum la.s.s, But luvin'er or kinder soul Ne'er stepped on medder gra.s.s.

Sez I, ”Good wimmen never grows Frum idle gals, 'tis true;”

So we decided Sally should Airn her own livin' too.

And then we talked about the twins,-- About our Joe and Jim.

Joe allus wuz a truant cuss, And oft I've wallerp'd him

Fer runnin' 'way from skule to watch The s.h.i.+ps c.u.m in at sea.

He allus said, ”When I'm a man, A sailor I will be.”

Wuz allus gettin' inter sc.r.a.ps On politicks at skule; It wa'n't no use to send 'im, He broke ever' gol-durned rule.

But Jim wuz sort o' studious; He keered a heap fer books.

Lazy? I guess! On summer days He'd find the shady nooks