The Battle Of Lake Erie Poem by Lone Dog

The Battle Of Lake Erie

Rating: 5.0

Blood red ran the eastern horizon.
Fire red was the rising sun,
As a few brave British sailors
Took their stations by the guns.

For the winds of war were blowing,
And the Yankee ships were near.
To the volunteers of Malden,
Our country's call was clear.

So we joined the Fort's brave soldiers
And manned the makeshift fleet.
Though we felt the pangs of hunger,
Our hearts ignored retreat.

For a lack of arms we ravaged
The ramparts of the Fort,
And hoisted 'board our flagship
Odd guns of every sort.

Then we pieced a sort of ensign
With red bunting and a 'Jack',
And we spiked it to the masthead
Near our pennant of attack.

We then hailed our gallant Captain
As he scanned the lake's expanse;
The one-armed Captain Barclay
Who knew we'd little chance.

With our poorly fitted squadron
Led by flagship the 'Detroit',
Six British ships weighed anchor
With their commandant adroit.

Blood red ran the eastern horizon.
Fire red was the rising sun
As the decks were quickly 'sanded'
And we primed our rampart guns.

But the friendly winds then shifted
Making 'their' advantage clear.
Yet, with colours nailed to masthead
We British showed no fear.

Using field guns fired by pistols
The Detroit had greater range,
And her thund'rous burst of salvos
Scored in murderous exchange.

Oh the horror of the battle!
The screams, the flesh, the pain!
The choking stench of sulphur!
The guts, the splattered brains!

How we pounded Perry's flagship!
How our broadsides ripped and tore
Till her masts were broken splinters
And her decks swam red with gore!

With every gun now useless
On his shattered bleeding brig,
Captain Perry left the flagship
Aboard its battered gig.

With his flag draped loose around him
He fled with sullen lip,
But he commandeered Niagara,
His Yankee sister ship.

Then, - our flagship took a broadside
From a gunboat left unchecked.
Captain Barclay, torn and bloody,
Was carried from the deck.

With our Captain gravely wounded
And our sheets and braces gone,
Our masts became entangled,
Another's rigging on.

Thus, now commenced the slaughter
Of our imprisoned ship,
For our flag could not be lowered,
Being spiked on mizzen tip.

Blood red ran the decks of our flagship.
Blood red ran the waters that day.
Till a shot felled the tattered red ensign
At the Battle near old Put-In Bay.

Yet, our shredded red flag is undaunted.
It waits in 'captivity' where
It yearns for the friendlier waters
Of the brave men who died for her there.

Linda Ori 05 September 2009

Forgot to mention, this reminded me of the tale of The Edmund Fitzgerald.

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