Loaded with gallant soldiers, <br />A boat shot in to the land, <br />And lay at the right of Rodman's Point <br />With her keel upon the sand. <br /> <br />Lightly, gayly, they came to shore, <br />And never a man afraid; <br />When sudden the enemy opened fire <br />From his deadly ambuscade. <br /> <br />Each man fell flat on the bottom <br />Of the boat; and the captain said: <br />'If we lie here, we all are captured, <br />And the first who moves is dead!' <br /> <br />Then out spoke a negro sailor, <br />No slavish soul had he; <br />'Somebody's got to die, boys, <br />And it might as well be me!' <br /> <br />Firmly he rose, and fearlessly <br />Stepped out into the tide; <br />He pushed the vessel safely off, <br />Then fell across her side: <br /> <br />Fell, pierced by a dozen bullets, <br />As the boat swung clear and free;— <br />But there wasn't a man of them that day <br />Who was fitter to die than he!<br /><br />Phoebe Cary<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ready-29/
