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By PHOEBE CARY.

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


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