With a "full-speed " bell- our engines tell
Of their interest in the news,

And the dishes crack, in the mess-room rack
With the jar of the whirling screws.
"Nor'-west-by-west!"

"Aye, Aye, Sir! Nor'-west-by-west!"

Now the fleet is nigh, and our flag on high,
With a roar from the signal gun.

To her place on the right, all fit for fight,
And a cheer from them every one.

The long trip's past and the flags speak fast
And West greets East once more.

'Tis a record trip of a Yankee ship

As it was in the days of yore. "Anchor's clear! Sir!"

"Very good! Let go!"

Oregon Signals.

“Did you save me a place in the line, Sisters? I have travelled afar for this sign,

When the guns speak plain, for our sister Maine, Did you save me a place in the line?"

Flag-ship Answers.

"All together in thunders loud, Sister!
We will talk through our open ports
Till Blanco's brag and the Spanish flag
Go down with the Morro forts."

"Two thousand and fifty yards!” “Fire!”

E. E. C. Gibbs

THE RUSH OF THE OREGON 113

THE RUSH OF THE "OREGON"

They held her South to Magellan's mouth,
Then East they steered her forth
Through the farther gate of the crafty strait,
And then they held her North.

Six thousand miles to the Indian Isles!
And the Oregon rushed home,
Her wake a swirl of jade and pearl,
Her bow a bend of foam.

And when at Rio the cable sang,

"There is war! - grim war with Spain!" The swart crews grinned and stroked their guns And thought on the mangled Maine.

In the glimmering gloom of the engine room
There was joy to each grimy soul,
And fainting men sprang up again

And piled the blazing coal.

Good need was there to go with care;

But every sailor prayed

Or gun for gun, or six to one,
To meet them, unafraid.

Her goal at last! With joyous blast
She hailed the welcoming roar
Of hungry sea-wolves curved along
The strong-hilled Cuban shore.

Long nights went by. Her beamèd eye,
Unwavering, searched the bay

Where trapped and penned for a certain end The Spanish squadron lay.

Out of the harbor a curl of smoke
A watchful gun rang clear.

Out of the channel the squadron broke
Like a bevy of frightened deer.

Then there was shouting for "Steam, more steam!"

And the fires gleamed white and red; And guns were manned, and ranges planned, And the great ships leaped ahead.

Then there was roaring of chorusing guns,
Shatter of shell, and spray;

And who but the Oregon

Was fiercest in chase and fray!

For her mighty wake was a seething snake;
Her bow was a billow of foam;
Like the mailèd fists of an angry wight
Her shot drove crashing home!

Pride of the Spanish navy, Ho!

Flee like a hounded beast!

For the Ship of the Northwest strikes a blow For the Ship of the far Northeast!

In quivering joy she surged ahead,
Aflame with flashing bars,

Till down sunk the Spaniard's gold and red
And up ran the Clustered Stars.

SEA BORN

"Glory to share?" Aye, and to spare;
But the chiefest is her's by right
Of a rush of fourteen thousand miles
For the chance of a bitter fight!

115

Arthur Guiterman

REALIZATION

When I was a lad, I used to read
By Summer afternoons and nights,
Of adventurers in square-rigged ships,
Of foreign ports and splendid sights.

And I would dream upon the day,

When I should know a heaving deck, Or beach a long-boat on the sand, Beside some buried galleon-wreck.

Now I am gone to see the world;
Nor all the eager dreams of youth,
Afire with tale of pirate gold,

Have conjured up the living truth.

The odor of the water-fronts,

The sun-white sand of coral keys;

No tale of verse may ever hint
One-half the spell of far, deep seas.

Ira South

SEA BORN

My mother bore me in an island town,
So I love windy water and the sight
Of luggers sailing by in thin moonlight, -
I wear the sea as others wear a crown.

My mother bore me near the spinning water,
Water was the first sound upon my ears,
And near the sea her mother bore her daughter,
Close to a window looking on the weirs.

Ever a wind is moaning where I go,

I never stand at night upon a quay,

But I must strain my eyes for sails that blow,
But I must strain my ears to hear the sea.
My mother bore me in an island town—,
I wear the sea as others wear a crown.

Harold Vinal

THE COASTERS

Overloaded, undermanned,

Trusting to a lee,

Playing I-spy with the land,
Jockeying the sea

That's the way the Coaster goes,

Through calm and hurricane:
Everywhere the tide flows,
Everywhere the wind blows,
From Mexico to Maine.

O East and West! O North and South!
We ply along the shore,

From famous Fundy's foggy mouth,

From voes of Labrador;

Through pass and strait, on sound and sea,

From port to port we stand

The rocks of Race fade on our lee,

We hail the Rio Grande.