Off Scarborough
By Bret Harte (Francis)
I
Have a care! the bailiffs cried
From their cockleshell that lay
Off the frigates yellow side,
Tossing on Scarborough Bay,
While the forty sail it convoyed on a bowline stretched away.
Take your chicks beneath your wings,
And your claws and feathers spread,
Ere the hawk upon them springs,
Ere around Flamborough Head
Swoops Paul Jones, the Yankee falcon, with his beak and talons red.
II
How we laughed! my mate and I,
On the Bon Homme Richards deck,
As we saw that convoy fly
Like a snow-squall, till each fleck
Melted in the twilight shadows of the coast-line, speck by speck;
And scuffling back to shore
The Scarborough bailiffs sped,
As the Richard with a roar
Of her cannon round the Head,
Crossed her royal yards and signaled to her consort: Chase ahead
III
But the devil seize Landais
In that consort ship of France!
For the shabby, lubber way
That he worked the Alliance
In the offing, nor a broadside fired save to our mischance!
When tumbling to the van,
With his battle-lanterns set,
Rose the burly Englishman
Gainst our hull as black as jet,
Rode the yellow-sided Serapis, and all alone we met!
IV
All alone, though far at sea
Hung his consort, rounding to;
All alone, though on our lee
Fought our Pallas, stanch and true!
For the first broadside around us both a smoky circle drew:
And, like champions in a ring,
There was cleared a little space
Scarce a cables length to swing
Ere we grappled in embrace,
All the world shut out around us, and we only face to face!
V
Then awoke all hell below
From that broadside, doubly curst,
For our long eighteens in row
Leaped the first discharge and burst!
And on deck our men came pouring, fearing their own guns the worst.
And as dumb we lay, till, through
Smoke and flame and bitter cry,
Hailed the Serapis: Have you
Struck your colors? Our reply,
We have not yet begun to fight! went shouting to the sky!
VI
Roux of Brest, old fisher, lay
Like a herring gasping here;
Bunker of Nantucket Bay,
Blown from out the port, dropped sheer
Half a cables length to leeward; yet we faintly raised a cheer
As with his own right hand
Our Commodore made fast
The foemans head-gear and
The Richards mizzen-mast,
And in that death-lock clinging held us there from first to last!
VII
Yet the foeman, gun on gun,
Through the Richard tore a road,
With his gunners rammers run
Through our ports at every load,
Till clear the blue beyond us through our yawning timbers showed.
Yet with entrails torn we clung
Like the Spartan to our fox,
And on deck no coward tongue
Wailed the enemys hard knocks,
Nor that all below us trembled like a wreck upon the rocks.
VIII
Then a thought rose in my brain,
As through Channel mists the sun.
From our tops a fire like rain
Drove below decks every one
Of the enemys ships company to hide or work a gun:
And that thought took shape as I
On the Richard6;s yard lay out,
That a man might do and die,
If the doing brought about
Freedom for his home and country, and his messmates cheering shout!
IX
Then I crept out in the dark
Till I hung above the hatch
Of the Serapis, a mark
For her marksmen! with a match
And a hand-grenade, but lingered just a moment more to snatch
One last look at sea and sky!
At the lighthouse on the hill!
At the harvest-moon on high!
And our pine flag fluttering still!
Then turned and down her yawning throat I launched that devils pill!
X
Then a blank was all between
As the flames around me spun!
Had I fired the magazine?
Was the victory lost or won?
Nor knew I till the fight was oer but half my work was done:
For I lay among the dead
In the cockpit of our foe,
With a roar above my head,
Till a trampling to and fro,
And a lantern showed my mates face, and I knew what now you know!