63. THE "CUMBERLAND."

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,

On board of the Cumberland, sloop of war; And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past,

Or a bugle blast

From the camp on the shore.

Then far away to the south uprose

A little feather of snow-white smoke,

And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
Was steadily steering its course

To try the force

Of our ribs of oak.

Down upon us heavily runs,

Silent and sullen, the floating fort;

Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
And leaps the terrible death,

With fiery breath,

From each open port.

We are not idle, but send her straight
Defiance back in a full broadside!
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,
Rebounds our heavier hail

From each iron scale

Of the monster's hide.

"Strike your flag!" the rebel cries,

In his arrogant old plantation strain.
"Never!" our gallant Morris replies;
"It is better to sink than to yield !"
And the whole air pealed
With the cheers of our men.

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Then, like a kraken huge and black,
She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp !
Down went the Cumberland all a wrack,
With a sudden shudder of death,
And the cannon's breath

For her dying gasp.

Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,

Still floated our flag at the mainmast-head. Lord, how beautiful was Thy day!

Every waft of the air

Was a whisper of prayer,
Or a dirge for the dead.

Ho, brave hearts that went down in the seas,
Ye are at peace in the troubled stream!
Ho, brave land, with hearts like these,

Thy flag that is rent in twain
Shall be one again,

And without a seam!

LONGFELLOW.

(Sailors' Song, from "Balder.")

"How many?" said our good captain.

"Twenty sail and more."

We were homeward bound,

Scudding in a gale with our jib towards the Nore.

Right athwart our tack

The foe came thick and black,

Like storm-birds and foul weather

count them by the score.

The Betsy Jane did slack

To see the game in view;

you might

They knew the Union Jack,

And the tyrant's flag we knew!

Our captain shouted, "Clear the decks!" and the boson's whistle blew.

Then our gallant captain,

With his hand he seized the wheel,

And pointed with his stump to the middle of the foe. 66 Hurrah, lads, in we go!"

(You should hear the British cheer,

Fore and aft.)

"There are twenty sail," sang he,

"But little Betsy Jane bobs to nothing on the sea!"

(You should hear the British cheer,

Fore and aft.)

The foe, he beats to quarters, and the Russian bugles sound;

And the little Betsy Jane, she leaps upon the sea.

"Port and starboard!" cried our captain;

65. DEATH OF WILLIAM THE THIRD.

Meanwhile reports about the state of the king's health were constantly becoming more and more alarming. His medical advisers, both English and Dutch, were at the end of their resources. He had consulted by letter all the most eminent physicians of Europe; and as he was apprehensive that they might return flattering answers if they knew who he was, he had written under feigned names. To Fagon he had described himself as a parish priest. Fagon replied, somewhat bluntly, that such symptoms could have only one meaning, and that the only advice that he had to give to the sick man was to prepare himself for death. Having obtained this plain answer, William consulted Fagon again without disguise, and obtained some prescriptions which were thought to have a little retarded the approach of the inevitable hour.

But the great king's days were numbered. Headaches and shivering fits returned on him almost daily. He still rode and even hunted, but he had no longer that firm seat or that perfect command of the bridle for which he had once been renowned. Still all his care was for the future. The filial respect and tenderness of Albemarle had been almost a necessary of life to him. But it was of importance that Heinsius should be fully informed both as to the whole plan of the next campaign and as to the state of the preparations. Albemarle was in full possession of the king's views on these subjects. He was there