Chapter 69

Comes a cry from Cuban water—From the warm, dusk Antilles—From the lost Atlanta's daughter,Drowned in blood as drowned in seas;Comes a cry of purpled anguish—See her struggles, hear her cries!Shall she live, or shall she languish?Shall she sink, or shall she rise?She shall rise, by all that's holy!She shall live and she shall last;Rise as we, when crushed and lowly,From the blackness of the past.Bid her strike! Lo, it is writtenBlood for blood and life for life.Bid her smite, as she is smitten;Stars and stripes were born of strife.Once we flashed her lights of freedom,Lights that dazzled her dark eyesTill she could but yearning heed them,Reach her hands and try to rise.Then they stabbed her, choked her, drowned herTill we scarce could hear a note.Ah! these rusting chains that bound her!Oh! these robbers at her throat!And the kind who forged these fetters?Ask five hundred years for news.Stake and thumbscrew for their betters!Inquisitions! Banished Jews!Chains and slavery! What reminderOf one red man in that land?Why, these very chains that bind herBound Columbus, foot and hand!Shall she rise as rose Columbus,From his chains, from shame and wrong—Rise as Morning, matchless, wondrous—Rise as some rich morning song—Rise a ringing song and story,Valor, Love personified?Stars and stripes espouse her glory,Love and Liberty allied.Joaquin Miller.

She shall rise, by all that's holy!She shall live and she shall last;Rise as we, when crushed and lowly,From the blackness of the past.Bid her strike! Lo, it is writtenBlood for blood and life for life.Bid her smite, as she is smitten;Stars and stripes were born of strife.

Once we flashed her lights of freedom,Lights that dazzled her dark eyesTill she could but yearning heed them,Reach her hands and try to rise.Then they stabbed her, choked her, drowned herTill we scarce could hear a note.Ah! these rusting chains that bound her!Oh! these robbers at her throat!

And the kind who forged these fetters?Ask five hundred years for news.Stake and thumbscrew for their betters!Inquisitions! Banished Jews!Chains and slavery! What reminderOf one red man in that land?Why, these very chains that bind herBound Columbus, foot and hand!

Shall she rise as rose Columbus,From his chains, from shame and wrong—Rise as Morning, matchless, wondrous—Rise as some rich morning song—Rise a ringing song and story,Valor, Love personified?Stars and stripes espouse her glory,Love and Liberty allied.

Joaquin Miller.

The situation of Americans in Havana began to cause uneasiness, and it was decided to send a ship of war to that port. The battleship Maine was selected for this duty, and reached Havana on the morning of January 24, 1898.

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS[14]

Untrammelled Giant of the West,With all of Nature's gifts endowed,With all of Heaven's mercies blessed,Nor of thy power unduly proud—Peerless in courage, force, and skill,And godlike in thy strength of will,—Before thy feet the ways divide:One path leads up to heights sublime;The other downward slopes, where bideThe refuse and the wrecks of Time.Choose then, nor falter at the start,O choose the nobler path and part!Be thou the guardian of the weak,Of the unfriended, thou the friend;No guerdon for thy valor seek,No end beyond the avowèd end.Wouldst thou thy godlike power preserve,Be godlike in the will to serve!Joseph B. Gilder.

Before thy feet the ways divide:One path leads up to heights sublime;The other downward slopes, where bideThe refuse and the wrecks of Time.Choose then, nor falter at the start,O choose the nobler path and part!

Be thou the guardian of the weak,Of the unfriended, thou the friend;No guerdon for thy valor seek,No end beyond the avowèd end.Wouldst thou thy godlike power preserve,Be godlike in the will to serve!

Joseph B. Gilder.

On the morning of February 16, 1898, the news flashed over the country that on the previous evening the Maine had been blown up at her anchorage, and that two hundred and sixty-four men and two officers had been killed.

THE MEN OF THE MAINE

[February 15, 1898]

Not in the dire, ensanguined front of war,Conquered or conqueror,'Mid the dread battle-peal, did they go downTo the still under-seas, with fair RenownTo weave for them the hero-martyr's crown.They struck no blow'Gainst an embattled foe;With valiant-hearted Saxon hardihoodThey stood not as the Essex sailors stood,So sore bestead in that far Chilian bay;Yet no less faithful they,These men who, in a passing of the breath,Were hurtled upon death.No warning the salt-scented sea-wind bore,No presage whispered from the Cuban shoreOf the appalling fateThat in the tropic night-time lay in waitTo bear them whence they shall return no more.Some lapsed from dreams of home and love's clear starInto a realm where dreams eternal are;And some into a world of wave and flameWherethrough they cameTo living agony that no words can name.Tears for them all,And the low-tunèd dirge funereal!Their place is nowWith those who wear, green-set about the brow,The deathless immortelles,—The heroes torn and scarredWhose blood made red the barren ocean dells,Fighting with him the gallant Ranger bore,Daring to do what none had dared before,To wave the New World banner, freedom-starred,At England's very door!Yea, with such noble ones their names shall standAs those who heard the dying Lawrence speakHis burning words upon the Chesapeake,And grappled in the hopeless hand-to-hand;With those who fell on Erie and ChamplainBeneath the pouring, pitiless battle-rain:With such as these, our lost men of the Maine!What though they faced no storm of iron hailThat freedom and the right might still prevail?The path of duty it was theirs to treadTo death's dark vale through ways of travail led,And they are ours—our dead!If it be true that each loss holds a gain,It must be ours through saddened eyes to seeFrom out this tragic holocaust of painThe whole land bound in closer amity!Clinton Scollard.

No warning the salt-scented sea-wind bore,No presage whispered from the Cuban shoreOf the appalling fateThat in the tropic night-time lay in waitTo bear them whence they shall return no more.Some lapsed from dreams of home and love's clear starInto a realm where dreams eternal are;And some into a world of wave and flameWherethrough they cameTo living agony that no words can name.Tears for them all,And the low-tunèd dirge funereal!

Their place is nowWith those who wear, green-set about the brow,The deathless immortelles,—The heroes torn and scarredWhose blood made red the barren ocean dells,Fighting with him the gallant Ranger bore,Daring to do what none had dared before,To wave the New World banner, freedom-starred,At England's very door!Yea, with such noble ones their names shall standAs those who heard the dying Lawrence speakHis burning words upon the Chesapeake,And grappled in the hopeless hand-to-hand;With those who fell on Erie and ChamplainBeneath the pouring, pitiless battle-rain:With such as these, our lost men of the Maine!

What though they faced no storm of iron hailThat freedom and the right might still prevail?The path of duty it was theirs to treadTo death's dark vale through ways of travail led,And they are ours—our dead!If it be true that each loss holds a gain,It must be ours through saddened eyes to seeFrom out this tragic holocaust of painThe whole land bound in closer amity!

Clinton Scollard.

THE WORD OF THE LORD FROM HAVANA

[February 16, 1898]

Thus spake the Lord:Because ye have not heard,Because ye have given no heedTo my people in their need,Because the oppressed criedFrom the dust where he died,And ye turned your face awayFrom his cry in that day,Because ye have bought and soldThat which is above gold,Because your brother is slainWhile ye get you drunk with gain,(Behold, these are my people, I have brought them to birth,On whom the mighty have trod,The kings of the earth,Saith the Lord God!)Because ye have fawned and bowed downLest the spoiler frown,And the wrongs that the spoiled have borneYe have held in scorn,Therefore with rending and flameI have marred and smitten you,Therefore I have given you to shame,That the nations shall spit on you.Therefore my Angel of DeathHath stretched out his hand on you,Therefore I speak in my wrath,Laying command on you;(Once have I bared my sword,And the kings of the earth gave a cry;Twice have I bared my sword,That the kings of the earth should die;Thrice shall I bare my sword,And ye shall know my name, that it is I!)Ye who held peace less than rightWhen a king laid a pitiful tax on you,Hold not your hand from the fightWhen freedom cries under the axe on you!(I who called France to you, call you to Cuba in turn!Repay—lest I cast you adrift and you perish astern!)Ye who made war that your shipsShould lay to at the beck of no nation,Make war now on Murder, that slipsThe leash of her hounds of damnation!Ye who remembered the Alamo,Remember the Maine!Richard Hovey.

Thus spake the Lord:Because ye have not heard,Because ye have given no heedTo my people in their need,

Because the oppressed criedFrom the dust where he died,And ye turned your face awayFrom his cry in that day,

Because ye have bought and soldThat which is above gold,Because your brother is slainWhile ye get you drunk with gain,

(Behold, these are my people, I have brought them to birth,On whom the mighty have trod,The kings of the earth,Saith the Lord God!)

Because ye have fawned and bowed downLest the spoiler frown,And the wrongs that the spoiled have borneYe have held in scorn,

Therefore with rending and flameI have marred and smitten you,Therefore I have given you to shame,That the nations shall spit on you.

Therefore my Angel of DeathHath stretched out his hand on you,Therefore I speak in my wrath,Laying command on you;

(Once have I bared my sword,And the kings of the earth gave a cry;Twice have I bared my sword,That the kings of the earth should die;Thrice shall I bare my sword,And ye shall know my name, that it is I!)

Ye who held peace less than rightWhen a king laid a pitiful tax on you,Hold not your hand from the fightWhen freedom cries under the axe on you!

(I who called France to you, call you to Cuba in turn!Repay—lest I cast you adrift and you perish astern!)

Ye who made war that your shipsShould lay to at the beck of no nation,Make war now on Murder, that slipsThe leash of her hounds of damnation!

Ye who remembered the Alamo,Remember the Maine!

Richard Hovey.

HALF-MAST

[February 16, 1898]

On every schoolhouse, ship, and staffFrom 'Frisco clear to Marblehead,Let droop the starry banner now,In sorrow for our sailors dead.Half-mast! Half-mast! o'er all the land;The verdict wait; your wrath restrain;Half-mast for all that gallant band—The sailors of the Maine!Not till a treachery is provedHis sword the patriot soldier draws;War is the last alternative—Be patient till ye know the cause.Meanwhile—Half-mast o'er all the land!The verdict wait; your wrath restrain;Half-mast! for all that gallant band—The martyrs of the Maine!Lloyd Mifflin.

On every schoolhouse, ship, and staffFrom 'Frisco clear to Marblehead,Let droop the starry banner now,In sorrow for our sailors dead.

Half-mast! Half-mast! o'er all the land;The verdict wait; your wrath restrain;Half-mast for all that gallant band—The sailors of the Maine!

Not till a treachery is provedHis sword the patriot soldier draws;War is the last alternative—Be patient till ye know the cause.

Meanwhile—Half-mast o'er all the land!The verdict wait; your wrath restrain;Half-mast! for all that gallant band—The martyrs of the Maine!

Lloyd Mifflin.

THE FIGHTING RACE

[February 16, 1898]

"Read out the names!" and Burke sat back,And Kelly drooped his head,While Shea—they call him Scholar Jack—Went down the list of the dead.Officers, seamen, gunners, marines,The crews of the gig and yawl,The bearded man and the lad in his teens,Carpenters, coal passers—all.Then, knocking the ashes from out his pipe,Said Burke in an offhand way:"We're all in that dead man's list by Cripe!Kelly and Burke and Shea.""Well, here's to the Maine, and I'm sorry for Spain,"Said Kelly and Burke and Shea."Wherever there's Kellys there's trouble," said Burke."Wherever fighting's the game,Or a spice of danger in grown man's work."Said Kelly, "you'll find my name.""And do we fall short," said Burke, getting mad,"When it's touch and go for life?"Said Shea, "It's thirty-odd years, bedad,Since I charged to drum and fifeUp Marye's Heights, and my old canteenStopped a rebel ball on its way;There were blossoms of blood on our sprigs of green—Kelly and Burke and Shea—And the dead didn't brag." "Well, here's to the flag!"Said Kelly and Burke and Shea."I wish 'twas in Ireland, for there's the place,"Said Burke, "that we'd die by right,In the cradle of our soldier race,After one good stand-up fight.My grandfather fell on Vinegar Hill,And fighting was not his trade;But his rusty pike's in the cabin still,With Hessian blood on the blade.""Aye, aye," said Kelly, "the pikes were greatWhen the word was 'clear the way!'We were thick on the roll in ninety-eight—Kelly and Burke and Shea.""Well, here's to the pike and the sword and the like!"Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.And Shea, the scholar, with rising joy,Said, "We were at Ramillies;We left our bones at FontenoyAnd up in the Pyrenees;Before Dunkirk, on Landen's plain,Cremona, Lille, and Ghent;We're all over Austria, France, and Spain,Wherever they pitched a tent.We've died for England from WaterlooTo Egypt and Dargai;And still there's enough for a corps or crew,Kelly and Burke and Shea.""Well, here's to good honest fighting blood!"Said Kelly and Burke and Shea."Oh, the fighting races don't die out,If they seldom die in bed,For love is first in their hearts, no doubt,"Said Burke; then Kelly said:"When Michael, the Irish Archangel, stands,The angel with the sword,And the battle-dead from a hundred landsAre ranged in one big horde,Our line, that for Gabriel's trumpet waits,Will stretch three deep that day,From Jehoshaphat to the Golden Gates—Kelly and Burke and Shea.""Well, here's thank God for the race and the sod!"Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.Joseph I. C. Clarke.

"Wherever there's Kellys there's trouble," said Burke."Wherever fighting's the game,Or a spice of danger in grown man's work."Said Kelly, "you'll find my name.""And do we fall short," said Burke, getting mad,"When it's touch and go for life?"Said Shea, "It's thirty-odd years, bedad,Since I charged to drum and fifeUp Marye's Heights, and my old canteenStopped a rebel ball on its way;There were blossoms of blood on our sprigs of green—Kelly and Burke and Shea—And the dead didn't brag." "Well, here's to the flag!"Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

"I wish 'twas in Ireland, for there's the place,"Said Burke, "that we'd die by right,In the cradle of our soldier race,After one good stand-up fight.My grandfather fell on Vinegar Hill,And fighting was not his trade;But his rusty pike's in the cabin still,With Hessian blood on the blade.""Aye, aye," said Kelly, "the pikes were greatWhen the word was 'clear the way!'We were thick on the roll in ninety-eight—Kelly and Burke and Shea.""Well, here's to the pike and the sword and the like!"Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

And Shea, the scholar, with rising joy,Said, "We were at Ramillies;We left our bones at FontenoyAnd up in the Pyrenees;Before Dunkirk, on Landen's plain,Cremona, Lille, and Ghent;We're all over Austria, France, and Spain,Wherever they pitched a tent.We've died for England from WaterlooTo Egypt and Dargai;And still there's enough for a corps or crew,Kelly and Burke and Shea.""Well, here's to good honest fighting blood!"Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

"Oh, the fighting races don't die out,If they seldom die in bed,For love is first in their hearts, no doubt,"Said Burke; then Kelly said:"When Michael, the Irish Archangel, stands,The angel with the sword,And the battle-dead from a hundred landsAre ranged in one big horde,Our line, that for Gabriel's trumpet waits,Will stretch three deep that day,From Jehoshaphat to the Golden Gates—Kelly and Burke and Shea.""Well, here's thank God for the race and the sod!"Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

Joseph I. C. Clarke.

A wave of fierce wrath swept over the American people; but Captain Sigsbee, of the destroyed ship, asked that judgment be suspended until the cause of the accident had been investigated.

ON THE EVE OF WAR

O God of Battles, who art stillThe God of Love, the God of Rest,Subdue thy people's fiery will,And quell the passions in their breast!Before we bathe our hands in bloodWe lift them to thy Holy Rood.The waiting nations hold their breathTo catch the dreadful battle-cry;And in the silence as of deathThe fateful hours go softly by.Oh, hear thy people where they pray,And shrive our souls before the fray!Before the sun of peace shall set,We kneel apart a solemn while;Pity the eyes with sorrow wet,But pity most the lips that smile.The night comes fast; we hear afarThe baying of the wolves of war.Not lightly, oh, not lightly, Lord,Let this our awful task begin;Speak from thy throne a warning wordAbove the angry factions' din.Ifthisbe thy Most Holy will,Be with us still,—be with us still!Danske Dandridge.Good Friday, 1898.

O God of Battles, who art stillThe God of Love, the God of Rest,Subdue thy people's fiery will,And quell the passions in their breast!Before we bathe our hands in bloodWe lift them to thy Holy Rood.

The waiting nations hold their breathTo catch the dreadful battle-cry;And in the silence as of deathThe fateful hours go softly by.Oh, hear thy people where they pray,And shrive our souls before the fray!

Before the sun of peace shall set,We kneel apart a solemn while;Pity the eyes with sorrow wet,But pity most the lips that smile.The night comes fast; we hear afarThe baying of the wolves of war.

Not lightly, oh, not lightly, Lord,Let this our awful task begin;Speak from thy throne a warning wordAbove the angry factions' din.Ifthisbe thy Most Holy will,Be with us still,—be with us still!

Danske Dandridge.

Good Friday, 1898.

Spain, without waiting for investigation, announced that the Maine had been blown up by an explosion of her magazines, due to the carelessness of her officers. The American people waited in ominous silence for the investigation to be concluded.

TO SPAIN—A LAST WORD

Iberian! palter no more! By thine hands, thine alone, they were slain!Oh, 'twas a deed in the dark—Yet mark!We will show you a way—only one—by which ye may blot out the stain!Build them a monument whom to death-sleep, in their sleep, ye betrayed!Proud and stern let it be—Cuba free!So, only, the stain shall be razed—so, only, the great debt be paid!Edith M. Thomas.

Iberian! palter no more! By thine hands, thine alone, they were slain!Oh, 'twas a deed in the dark—Yet mark!We will show you a way—only one—by which ye may blot out the stain!

Build them a monument whom to death-sleep, in their sleep, ye betrayed!Proud and stern let it be—Cuba free!So, only, the stain shall be razed—so, only, the great debt be paid!

Edith M. Thomas.

Meanwhile, the sailor dead were buried in the cemetery at Havana, with impressive ceremony. They were afterwards disinterred and placed in the military cemetery at Arlington on the Potomac.

THE MARTYRS OF THE MAINE

And they have thrust our shattered dead away in foreign graves,Exiled forever from the port the homesick sailor craves!They trusted once in Spain,They're trusting her again!And with the holy care of our own sacred slain!No, no, the Stripes and StarsMust wave above our tars.Bring them home!On a thousand hills the darling dead of all our battles lie,In nooks of peace, with flowers and flags, but now they seem to cryFrom out their bivouac:"Here every good man JackBelongs. Nowhere but here—with us.So bring them back."And on the Cuban gales,A ghostly rumor wails,"Bring us home!"Poltroon, the people that neglects to guard the bones, the dust,The reverenced relics its warriors have bequeathed in trust!But heroes, too, were theseWho sentinell'd the seasAnd gave their lives, to shelter us in careless ease.Shall we desert them, slain,And proffer them to SpainAs alien mendicants,—these martyrs of our Maine?No! Bring them home!Rupert Hughes.

On a thousand hills the darling dead of all our battles lie,In nooks of peace, with flowers and flags, but now they seem to cryFrom out their bivouac:"Here every good man JackBelongs. Nowhere but here—with us.So bring them back."And on the Cuban gales,A ghostly rumor wails,"Bring us home!"

Poltroon, the people that neglects to guard the bones, the dust,The reverenced relics its warriors have bequeathed in trust!But heroes, too, were theseWho sentinell'd the seasAnd gave their lives, to shelter us in careless ease.Shall we desert them, slain,And proffer them to SpainAs alien mendicants,—these martyrs of our Maine?No! Bring them home!

Rupert Hughes.

At last, the investigation was ended, and showed that the Maine had been blown up from the outside, probably by a submarine mine, exploded by men who wore the uniform of Spain. The report reached Congress March 28, 1898, and on April 11 President McKinley asked Congress for authority to establish an independent government in Cuba.

EL EMPLAZADO

El Emplazado, the Summoned, the Doomed One,Spain whom the nations denounce and abhor,Robe thy dismay in the black sanbenito,Come to the frowning tribunal of war.Curst were thy minions, their roster and scutcheon,Alvas, Alfonsos, Archarchons of hate;Pillared on bigotry, pride, and extortion,Topples to ruin thy mansion of state.Violence, Cruelty, Intrigue, and Treason.These the false courtiers who flattered thy throne;Empires, thy sisters, forbode thee disaster,Even thy children their mother disown.Suppliant Cuba, thy daughter forsaken,Famished and bleeding and buffeted sore,Ghastly from gashes and stabs of thy rancor,Binds up her wounds at an alien door.Courts and corregidors erst at thy biddingBanished or butchered Moresco and Jew;Ghosts from all Christendom, shades of the MartyrsFlock from the sepulchre thee to pursue.Wrath of retributive Justice o'ertakes thee!Brand of time's malison blisters thy brow:Armed cabelleros and crowned kings of Bourbon,All are unable to succor thee now.El Emplazado, the Summoned, the Doomed One!God's Inquisition condemns thee to-day!Earth-shaking cannon-bolts thunder thy sentence,—Heaven reëchoes the auto-da-fé.William Henry Venable.

El Emplazado, the Summoned, the Doomed One,Spain whom the nations denounce and abhor,Robe thy dismay in the black sanbenito,Come to the frowning tribunal of war.

Curst were thy minions, their roster and scutcheon,Alvas, Alfonsos, Archarchons of hate;Pillared on bigotry, pride, and extortion,Topples to ruin thy mansion of state.

Violence, Cruelty, Intrigue, and Treason.These the false courtiers who flattered thy throne;Empires, thy sisters, forbode thee disaster,Even thy children their mother disown.

Suppliant Cuba, thy daughter forsaken,Famished and bleeding and buffeted sore,Ghastly from gashes and stabs of thy rancor,Binds up her wounds at an alien door.

Courts and corregidors erst at thy biddingBanished or butchered Moresco and Jew;Ghosts from all Christendom, shades of the MartyrsFlock from the sepulchre thee to pursue.

Wrath of retributive Justice o'ertakes thee!Brand of time's malison blisters thy brow:Armed cabelleros and crowned kings of Bourbon,All are unable to succor thee now.

El Emplazado, the Summoned, the Doomed One!God's Inquisition condemns thee to-day!Earth-shaking cannon-bolts thunder thy sentence,—Heaven reëchoes the auto-da-fé.

William Henry Venable.

On April 19, 1898, Congress adopted a resolution declaring that Spanish rule in Cuba must cease, recognizing the independence of the Cubans, and empowering the President to use the entire land and naval forces of the United States to drive Spain from the island. It was, in effect, a declaration of war.

BATTLE SONG

When the vengeance wakes, when the battle breaks,And the ships sweep out to sea;When the foe is neared, when the decks are cleared,And the colors floating free;When the squadrons meet, when it's fleet to fleetAnd front to front with Spain,From ship to ship, from lip to lip,Pass on the quick refrain,"Remember, remember the Maine!"When the flag shall sign, "Advance in line;Train ships on an even keel;"When the guns shall flash and the shot shall crashAnd bound on the ringing steel;When the rattling blasts from the armored mastsAre hurling their deadliest rain,Let their voices loud, through the blinding cloud,Cry ever the fierce refrain,"Remember, remember the Maine!"God's sky and sea in that storm shall beFate's chaos of smoke and flame,But across that hell every shot shall tell,Not a gun can miss its aim;Not a blow shall fail on the crumbling mail,And the waves that engulf the slainShall sweep the decks of the blackened wrecks,With the thundering, dread refrain,"Remember, remember the Maine!"Robert Burns Wilson.

When the flag shall sign, "Advance in line;Train ships on an even keel;"When the guns shall flash and the shot shall crashAnd bound on the ringing steel;When the rattling blasts from the armored mastsAre hurling their deadliest rain,Let their voices loud, through the blinding cloud,Cry ever the fierce refrain,"Remember, remember the Maine!"

God's sky and sea in that storm shall beFate's chaos of smoke and flame,But across that hell every shot shall tell,Not a gun can miss its aim;Not a blow shall fail on the crumbling mail,And the waves that engulf the slainShall sweep the decks of the blackened wrecks,With the thundering, dread refrain,"Remember, remember the Maine!"

Robert Burns Wilson.

England was the only country in Europe whose sympathies were openly with the United States. In France, Italy, and elsewhere, the hostility to America was bitter and outspoken.

GREETING FROM ENGLAND

America! dear brother land!While yet the shotted guns are mute,Accept a brotherly salute,A hearty grip of England's hand.To-morrow, when the sulphurous glowOf war shall dim the stars above,Be sure the star of England's loveIs over you, come weal or woe.Go forth in hope! Go forth in might!To all your nobler self be true,That coming times may see in youThe vanguard of the hosts of light.Though wrathful justice load and trainYour guns, be every breach they makeA gateway pierced for mercy's sakeThat peace may enter in and reign.Then, should the hosts of darkness bandAgainst you, lowering thunderously,Flash the word "Brother" o'er the sea,And England at your side shall stand,Exulting! For, though dark the nightAnd sinister with scud and rack,The hour that brings us back to backBut harbingers the larger light.LondonChronicle, April 22, 1898.

America! dear brother land!While yet the shotted guns are mute,Accept a brotherly salute,A hearty grip of England's hand.

To-morrow, when the sulphurous glowOf war shall dim the stars above,Be sure the star of England's loveIs over you, come weal or woe.

Go forth in hope! Go forth in might!To all your nobler self be true,That coming times may see in youThe vanguard of the hosts of light.

Though wrathful justice load and trainYour guns, be every breach they makeA gateway pierced for mercy's sakeThat peace may enter in and reign.

Then, should the hosts of darkness bandAgainst you, lowering thunderously,Flash the word "Brother" o'er the sea,And England at your side shall stand,

Exulting! For, though dark the nightAnd sinister with scud and rack,The hour that brings us back to backBut harbingers the larger light.

LondonChronicle, April 22, 1898.

Diplomatic relations between Spain and the United States were at once severed, and on April 25, 1898, Congress formally declared that war with the Kingdom of Spain had existed since April 21. The first blow was to be struck with surprising suddenness.

BATTLE CRY

[May 1, 1898]

The loud drums are rolling, the mad trumpets blow!To battle! the war is begun and we goTo humble the pride of an arrogant foe!The ensign and standard which wave for the CrownOf Castile and Aragon—trample them down!Granada and Leon and haughty NavarreShall lower their banner to Cuba's lone star!Now under Old Glory, the Blue and the GrayUnited march shoulder to shoulder away,To meet the Hidalgos in furious fray.With musket and haversack ready are weTo tramp the globe over, to sweep every sea,From isles of dead Philip to Florida's Key.We think of the Maine and our hot bosoms swellWith rage of love's sorrow, which vengeance must quell,And then we are ready to storm gates of Hell.Our flag streams aloft by the tempest unfurled!We strike for a Continent;—nay, for the World!Mene, Tekel, Upharsin! the thunder is hurled!The ensign and standard which wave for the CrownOf Castile and Aragon—trample them down!Granada and Leon and haughty NavarreShall lower their banner to Cuba's lone star!William Henry Venable.

The loud drums are rolling, the mad trumpets blow!To battle! the war is begun and we goTo humble the pride of an arrogant foe!

The ensign and standard which wave for the CrownOf Castile and Aragon—trample them down!Granada and Leon and haughty NavarreShall lower their banner to Cuba's lone star!

Now under Old Glory, the Blue and the GrayUnited march shoulder to shoulder away,To meet the Hidalgos in furious fray.

With musket and haversack ready are weTo tramp the globe over, to sweep every sea,From isles of dead Philip to Florida's Key.

We think of the Maine and our hot bosoms swellWith rage of love's sorrow, which vengeance must quell,And then we are ready to storm gates of Hell.

Our flag streams aloft by the tempest unfurled!We strike for a Continent;—nay, for the World!Mene, Tekel, Upharsin! the thunder is hurled!

The ensign and standard which wave for the CrownOf Castile and Aragon—trample them down!Granada and Leon and haughty NavarreShall lower their banner to Cuba's lone star!

William Henry Venable.

Thousands of miles away, across the Pacific, lay another island dependency of Spain, the Philippines. The Navy Department, with singular foresight, had been gradually increasing the Asiatic squadron, commanded by Commodore George Dewey, and that officer was carefully preparing for the work he saw before him. The fleet was assembled at Hong Kong, and on April 26, 1898, came a cablegram to Dewey stating that war had commenced and ordering him to proceed at once to the Philippines and capture or destroy the Spanish fleet there. At two o'clock the next afternoon, the American fleet started on its six-hundred-mile journey. It reached Manila on the night of April 30, and steamed straight into the harbor.

JUST ONE SIGNAL

[May 1, 1898]

The war-path is true and straight,It knoweth no left or right;Why ponder and wonder and vacillate?The way to fight is to fight.The officer of the deckHad climbed to a perch aloft,And he leaned far out and he craned his neck,And his tones were gentle and soft:"I see," he whispered, "off there to port,Through the night shade's lesser black,The darker blur of the outer fort,Preparing for the attack."They signalled it so, and sharp and shortThe answer was signalled back:"Keep on."Again from the upper airCame the quiet voice of the guide:"The admiral's flagship's over there,Two miles on the starboard side.It's a long, long way for the best of eyes,But I know her by moon or sun,I know by her lines and I know her size—And there goes her warning gun.""That boat will make a most excellent prize,"Said the admiral, "when we've won.Keep on."The whispering came again:"I think by the hints and signsAppearing ahead of us now and thenThat we're getting among their mines.Ten fathom in front, as the search-lights show,I fancy that I can detectThe line of their outermost works—Ah, no!It is nearer than I'd suspect."The message was sent to the admiral so,And he answered to this effect:"Keep on."The haze of the dawning daySlid into the shades of night,And he called: "Off there in the upper bay,They're lining their ships for a fight.I think they are training on us—" No moreHe said, for the dawn was litBy the blaze of a gun from the neighboring shore,And he fell to the deck, hard hit.They signalled: "The first man struck." As beforeThe admiral answered it:"Keep on."The sun came over the hillsAs wishing a world-wide weal.And the guns were fired with the aim that kills,And steel pierced the heart of steel.And the line of shore was the fringe of hell,And the centre of hell was the sea,And the woe was the woe no tongue may tell,And no eye view tearlessly,And over that crater of bomb and shellThe signal continued to be:"Keep on."O Lawrence, whose passing cryGrows ever the more sublime,And thou, O Nile King, whose words shall dieWhen we learn of the death of time,We send you the third of a glorious three;We send you a battle shoutThat echoes up from the blood-thick seaAnd up from the wreck and routAnd down from the staff on the high cross-treeWhere the flag is signalling out:"Keep on."The war-path is true and straight,It knoweth no left or right;Mars loves not the man who would deviate,—For the way to fight is to fight.

The war-path is true and straight,It knoweth no left or right;Why ponder and wonder and vacillate?The way to fight is to fight.

The officer of the deckHad climbed to a perch aloft,And he leaned far out and he craned his neck,And his tones were gentle and soft:"I see," he whispered, "off there to port,Through the night shade's lesser black,The darker blur of the outer fort,Preparing for the attack."They signalled it so, and sharp and shortThe answer was signalled back:"Keep on."

Again from the upper airCame the quiet voice of the guide:"The admiral's flagship's over there,Two miles on the starboard side.It's a long, long way for the best of eyes,But I know her by moon or sun,I know by her lines and I know her size—And there goes her warning gun.""That boat will make a most excellent prize,"Said the admiral, "when we've won.Keep on."

The whispering came again:"I think by the hints and signsAppearing ahead of us now and thenThat we're getting among their mines.Ten fathom in front, as the search-lights show,I fancy that I can detectThe line of their outermost works—Ah, no!It is nearer than I'd suspect."The message was sent to the admiral so,And he answered to this effect:"Keep on."

The haze of the dawning daySlid into the shades of night,And he called: "Off there in the upper bay,They're lining their ships for a fight.I think they are training on us—" No moreHe said, for the dawn was litBy the blaze of a gun from the neighboring shore,And he fell to the deck, hard hit.They signalled: "The first man struck." As beforeThe admiral answered it:"Keep on."

The sun came over the hillsAs wishing a world-wide weal.And the guns were fired with the aim that kills,And steel pierced the heart of steel.And the line of shore was the fringe of hell,And the centre of hell was the sea,And the woe was the woe no tongue may tell,And no eye view tearlessly,And over that crater of bomb and shellThe signal continued to be:"Keep on."

O Lawrence, whose passing cryGrows ever the more sublime,And thou, O Nile King, whose words shall dieWhen we learn of the death of time,We send you the third of a glorious three;We send you a battle shoutThat echoes up from the blood-thick seaAnd up from the wreck and routAnd down from the staff on the high cross-treeWhere the flag is signalling out:"Keep on."

The war-path is true and straight,It knoweth no left or right;Mars loves not the man who would deviate,—For the way to fight is to fight.

A shot from Corregidor and another from El Fraile told that the fleet was discovered, but the ships glided quietly on, and at dawn the Spanish fleet was seen anchored under the batteries of Cavité. Dewey steamed straight for them; the Spanish ships were sunk, one after another, by the deadly fire of the American gunners, and by noon the Spanish fleet had been destroyed, the shore batteries silenced, and a white flag floated over the citadel of Cavité. Dewey had not lost a man, and had won the greatest naval battle since Trafalgar.

DEWEY AT MANILA

[May 1, 1898]

'Twas the very verge of MayWhen the bold Olympia ledIntoBocagrandeBayDewey's squadron, dark and dread,—Creeping past Corregidor,Guardian of Manila's shore.Do they sleep who wait the fray?Is the moon so dazzling brightThat our cruisers' battle-grayMelts into the misty light?...Ah! the red flash and the roar!Wakes at last Corregidor!All too late their screaming shellTears the silence with its track;This is but thegateof hell,We've no leisure to turn back.Answer, Concord!—then once moreSlumber on, Corregidor!And as, like a slowing tide,Onward still the vessels creep,Dewey, watching, falcon-eyed,Orders,—"Let the gunners sleep;For we meet a foe at fourFiercer than Corregidor."Well they slept, for well they knewWhat the morrow taught us all,—He was wise (as well as true)Thus upon the foe to fall.Long shall Spain the day deploreDewey ran Corregidor.May is dancing into lightAs the Spanish AdmiralFrom a dream of phantom fightWakens at his sentry's call.Shall he leave Cavité's lee,Hunt the Yankee fleet at sea?OMontojo, to thy deck,That to-day shall float its last!Quick! To quarters! Yonder speckGrows a hull of portent vast.Hither, toward Cavité's leeComes the Yankee hunting thee!Not for fear of hidden mineHalts our doughty Commodore.He, of old heroic line,Follows Farragut once more,Hazards all on victory,Here within Cavité's lee.If he loses, all is gone;He will win because he must.And the shafts of yonder dawnAre not quicker than his thrust.Soon, Montojo, he shall beWith thee in Cavité's lee.Now, Manila, to the fray!Show the hated Yankee hostThis is not a holiday,—Spanish blood is more than boast.Fleet and mine and battery,Crush him in Cavité's lee!Lo, hell's geysers at our forePierce the plotted path—in vain,Nerving every man the moreWith the memory of the Maine!Now at last our guns are freeHere within Cavité's lee."Gridley," says the Commodore,"You may fire when ready." ThenLong and loud, like lions' roarWhen a rival dares the den,Breaks the awful cannonryFull across Cavité's lee.Who shall tell the daring taleOf our Thunderbolt's attack,Finding, when the chart should fail,By the lead his dubious track,Five ships following faithfullyFive times o'er Cavité's lee;Of our gunners' deadly aim;Of the gallant foe and braveWho, unconquered, faced with flame,Seek the mercy of the wave,—Choosing honor in the seaUnderneath Cavité's lee?Let the meed the victors gainBe the measure of their task.Less of flinching, stouter strain,Fiercer combat—who could ask?And "surrender,"—'twas a wordThat Cavité ne'er had heard.Noon,—the woful work is done!Not a Spanish ship remains;But, of their eleven, noneEver was so truly Spain's!Which is prouder, they or we,Thinking of Cavité's lee?

'Twas the very verge of MayWhen the bold Olympia ledIntoBocagrandeBayDewey's squadron, dark and dread,—Creeping past Corregidor,Guardian of Manila's shore.

Do they sleep who wait the fray?Is the moon so dazzling brightThat our cruisers' battle-grayMelts into the misty light?...Ah! the red flash and the roar!Wakes at last Corregidor!

All too late their screaming shellTears the silence with its track;This is but thegateof hell,We've no leisure to turn back.Answer, Concord!—then once moreSlumber on, Corregidor!

And as, like a slowing tide,Onward still the vessels creep,Dewey, watching, falcon-eyed,Orders,—"Let the gunners sleep;For we meet a foe at fourFiercer than Corregidor."

Well they slept, for well they knewWhat the morrow taught us all,—He was wise (as well as true)Thus upon the foe to fall.Long shall Spain the day deploreDewey ran Corregidor.

May is dancing into lightAs the Spanish AdmiralFrom a dream of phantom fightWakens at his sentry's call.Shall he leave Cavité's lee,Hunt the Yankee fleet at sea?

OMontojo, to thy deck,That to-day shall float its last!Quick! To quarters! Yonder speckGrows a hull of portent vast.Hither, toward Cavité's leeComes the Yankee hunting thee!

Not for fear of hidden mineHalts our doughty Commodore.He, of old heroic line,Follows Farragut once more,Hazards all on victory,Here within Cavité's lee.

If he loses, all is gone;He will win because he must.And the shafts of yonder dawnAre not quicker than his thrust.Soon, Montojo, he shall beWith thee in Cavité's lee.

Now, Manila, to the fray!Show the hated Yankee hostThis is not a holiday,—Spanish blood is more than boast.Fleet and mine and battery,Crush him in Cavité's lee!

Lo, hell's geysers at our forePierce the plotted path—in vain,Nerving every man the moreWith the memory of the Maine!Now at last our guns are freeHere within Cavité's lee.

"Gridley," says the Commodore,"You may fire when ready." ThenLong and loud, like lions' roarWhen a rival dares the den,Breaks the awful cannonryFull across Cavité's lee.

Who shall tell the daring taleOf our Thunderbolt's attack,Finding, when the chart should fail,By the lead his dubious track,Five ships following faithfullyFive times o'er Cavité's lee;

Of our gunners' deadly aim;Of the gallant foe and braveWho, unconquered, faced with flame,Seek the mercy of the wave,—Choosing honor in the seaUnderneath Cavité's lee?

Let the meed the victors gainBe the measure of their task.Less of flinching, stouter strain,Fiercer combat—who could ask?And "surrender,"—'twas a wordThat Cavité ne'er had heard.

Noon,—the woful work is done!Not a Spanish ship remains;But, of their eleven, noneEver was so truly Spain's!Which is prouder, they or we,Thinking of Cavité's lee?

ENVOY

But remember, when we've ceasedGiving praise and reckoning odds,Man shares courage with the beast,Wisdom cometh from the gods.Who would win, on land or wave,Must be wise as well as brave.Robert Underwood Johnson.

But remember, when we've ceasedGiving praise and reckoning odds,Man shares courage with the beast,Wisdom cometh from the gods.Who would win, on land or wave,Must be wise as well as brave.

Robert Underwood Johnson.

DEWEY AND HIS MEN

[May 1, 1898]

Glistering high in the midnight sky the starry rockets soarTo crown the height so soon to be uncrowned, Corregidor;And moaning into the middle night resounds the answering shockFrom Fraile's island battery within the living rock;Like Farragut before him, so Dewey down the bay,Past fort and mine, in single line, holds on toward Cavité.When the earth was new a raven flew o'er the sea on a perilous quest,By his broad black pinions buoyed up as he sought him a spot to rest;So to-day from British China sweeps our Commodore 'mid the cheersOf England's dauntless ships of steel, and into the night he steers,With never a home but the furrowy foam and never a place for easeSave the place he'll win by the dint and din of his long, lean batteries.A misty dawn on the May-day shone, yet the enemy sees afarOn our ships-of-war great flags flung out as bright as the morning star;Then the cannon of Spain crash over the main and their splendor flecks the portsAs the crackling thunder rolls along the frowning fleet and forts;But the Olympia in her majesty leads up the broadening bayAnd behind her come gaunt ships and dumb toward crested Cavité.All pearl and rose the dawnlight glows, and ruddy and gray the gloomOf battle over their squadron sinks as we sweep like a vast simoom;When our broadsides flash and ring at last—in a hoarsening, staggering crushOn the arsenal and fleet in wrath our lurid lightnings rush.Malate knows us, Cavité, Cañacoa crazed with hate;But Corregidor shall speak no more, El Fraile fears his fate.Montojo fights as fought the knights by the Cid Campeador;He leaves his flagship all afire, the Cuba takes him o'erThe Don Antonio roars and fumes, the Austria lights and lifts;From Sangley to Manila Mole the battle vapor drifts;But the Queen Christine in one great blast dies as becomes her name,Her funeral shroud a pillar of cloud all filagreed with flame.From peak to peak our quick flags speak, the rattling chorus ends;And cheer on cheer rolls over the sea at the word the signal sends.From Commodore to powder-boy, from bridge to stoker's den,No battle rips have found our ships, nor wounds nor death our men.We cheer and rest, we rest and cheer; and ever above the tidesThe flag that knows no conquering foes in newer glory rides.When the reek of war is rolled afar by the breezes down the bayWe turn our deadly guns again on the walls of Cavité.The Spaniard dreamed of victory—his final hope is flownAs winged destruction up and down our batteries have strown—In horrid havoc, red and black, the storm throbs on amainTill in the glare of carnage there fade all the flags of Spain.In old Madrid sad eyes are hid for an empire sore bestead:Manila's mad with misery, Havana sick with dread,As the great bells toll each gallant soul Castile shall see no more,Toll Fraile's rock a thing for sport, toll lost Corregidor—Spain's fortresses are fluttering with banners blanched and pale;Her admiralty in agony lies shattered, steam and sail.And the home we sought was cheaply bought, for no mother, wife, nor maidFrom Maine to Loma Point bewails the lad for whom she prayed;Now everywhere, from Florida to the blue Vancouver Straits,The flag we've flown abroad is thrown, and a word of cheer awaits.The ships and men that never failed the nation from her birthHave done again all ships and men may do upon this earth.Glistering high in the noontide sky the starry banners soarTo crown anew the height so soon uncrowned, Corregidor.They bring the promise of the free to Philip's jewelled isles,And hearts oppressed thrill hard with hope whene'er that promise smiles;For the spirit of Old Ironsides broods o'er that tropic dayAnd the wildfire lights as Dewey fights on the broad Manila Bay.Wallace Rice.

When the earth was new a raven flew o'er the sea on a perilous quest,By his broad black pinions buoyed up as he sought him a spot to rest;So to-day from British China sweeps our Commodore 'mid the cheersOf England's dauntless ships of steel, and into the night he steers,With never a home but the furrowy foam and never a place for easeSave the place he'll win by the dint and din of his long, lean batteries.

A misty dawn on the May-day shone, yet the enemy sees afarOn our ships-of-war great flags flung out as bright as the morning star;Then the cannon of Spain crash over the main and their splendor flecks the portsAs the crackling thunder rolls along the frowning fleet and forts;But the Olympia in her majesty leads up the broadening bayAnd behind her come gaunt ships and dumb toward crested Cavité.

All pearl and rose the dawnlight glows, and ruddy and gray the gloomOf battle over their squadron sinks as we sweep like a vast simoom;When our broadsides flash and ring at last—in a hoarsening, staggering crushOn the arsenal and fleet in wrath our lurid lightnings rush.Malate knows us, Cavité, Cañacoa crazed with hate;But Corregidor shall speak no more, El Fraile fears his fate.

Montojo fights as fought the knights by the Cid Campeador;He leaves his flagship all afire, the Cuba takes him o'erThe Don Antonio roars and fumes, the Austria lights and lifts;From Sangley to Manila Mole the battle vapor drifts;But the Queen Christine in one great blast dies as becomes her name,Her funeral shroud a pillar of cloud all filagreed with flame.

From peak to peak our quick flags speak, the rattling chorus ends;And cheer on cheer rolls over the sea at the word the signal sends.From Commodore to powder-boy, from bridge to stoker's den,No battle rips have found our ships, nor wounds nor death our men.We cheer and rest, we rest and cheer; and ever above the tidesThe flag that knows no conquering foes in newer glory rides.

When the reek of war is rolled afar by the breezes down the bayWe turn our deadly guns again on the walls of Cavité.The Spaniard dreamed of victory—his final hope is flownAs winged destruction up and down our batteries have strown—In horrid havoc, red and black, the storm throbs on amainTill in the glare of carnage there fade all the flags of Spain.

In old Madrid sad eyes are hid for an empire sore bestead:Manila's mad with misery, Havana sick with dread,As the great bells toll each gallant soul Castile shall see no more,Toll Fraile's rock a thing for sport, toll lost Corregidor—Spain's fortresses are fluttering with banners blanched and pale;Her admiralty in agony lies shattered, steam and sail.

And the home we sought was cheaply bought, for no mother, wife, nor maidFrom Maine to Loma Point bewails the lad for whom she prayed;Now everywhere, from Florida to the blue Vancouver Straits,The flag we've flown abroad is thrown, and a word of cheer awaits.The ships and men that never failed the nation from her birthHave done again all ships and men may do upon this earth.

Glistering high in the noontide sky the starry banners soarTo crown anew the height so soon uncrowned, Corregidor.They bring the promise of the free to Philip's jewelled isles,And hearts oppressed thrill hard with hope whene'er that promise smiles;For the spirit of Old Ironsides broods o'er that tropic dayAnd the wildfire lights as Dewey fights on the broad Manila Bay.

Wallace Rice.

"OFF MANILLY"

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