  John Maynard. 'T TWAS on Lake Erie’s broad expanse, One bright midsummer day, The gallant steamer, Ocean Queen, Swept proudly on her way. Bright faces clustered on the deck, Or, leaning o’er the side, Watched carelessly the feathery foam That flecked the rippling tide.A seaman sought the captain’s side, A moment whispered low: The captain’s swarthy face grew pale; He hurried down below. Alas, too late! Though quick and sharp And clear his orders came, No human efforts could avail To quench th’ insidious flame. The bad news quickly reached the deck, It sped from lip to lip, And ghastly faces everywhere Looked from the doomed ship. “Is there no hope, no chance of life?” A hundred lips implore. “But one,” the captain made reply; “To run the ship on shore.” A sailor whose heroic soul That hour should yet reveal, By name John Maynard, Eastern born, Stood calmly at the wheel. “Head her southeast!” the captain shouts, Above the smothered roar,— “Head her southeast without delay! Make for the nearest shore!” John Maynard watched the nearing flames, But still, with steady hand, He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly He steered the ship to land. “John Maynard, can you still hold out?” He heard the captain cry. A voice from out the stifling smoke Faintly responds, “Ay, ay!” But half a mile! A hundred hands Stretch eagerly to shore. But half a mile! That distance sped, Peril shall all be o’er. But half a mile! Yet stay! The flames No longer slowly creep, But gather round the helmsman bold With fierce, impetuous sweep. “John Maynard,” with an anxious voice, The captain cries once more, “Stand by the wheel five minutes yet, And we will reach the shore.” Through flames and smoke that dauntless heart Responded firmly still, Unawed, though face to face with death, “With God’s good help, I will!” _ The flames approach with giant strides, They scorch his hands and brow; One arm disabled seeks his side: Ah, he is conquered now! But no; his teeth are firmly set, He crushes down his pain; His knee upon the stanchion pressed, He guides the ship again. One moment yet, one moment yet! Brave heart, thy task is o’er! The pebbles grate beneath the keel, The steamer touches shore. Three hundred grateful voices rise In praise to God, that He Hath saved them from the fearful fire And from th’ ingulfing sea. But where is he, that helmsman bold? The captain saw him reel; His nerveless hands released their task, He sank beside the wheel. The wave received his lifeless corpse, Blackened with smoke and fire. God rest him! Never hero had A nobler funeral pyre. |
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