THE SWORD-BEARER
309
No heed he gave to the flying ball, No heed to the bursting shell;His duty was something more than life, And he strove to do it well.
Down, with our starry flag speak, In the whirling sea we sank;And captain and crew and the sword-bearer Were washed from the bloody plank.
They picked us up from the hungry waves— Alas! not all. And where,Where is the faithful negro lad? "Back oars! avast! look there!"
We looked, and as heaven may save my soul, I pledge you a sailor's word,There, fathoms deep in the sea he lay, Still grasping his master's sword.
We drew him out; and many an hour We wrought with his rigid form,Ere the almost smothered spark of life By slow degrees grew warm.
The first dull glance that his eye-balls rolled Was down toward his shrunken hand;
