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80 Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking—preparations
 * to pass to the one we had conquered,

The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his
 * orders through a countenance white as a sheet,

Near by, the corpse of the child that served in the
 * cabin,

The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and
 * carefully curled whiskers,

The flames, spite of all that could be done, flickering
 * aloft and below,

The husky voices of the two or three officers yet
 * fit for duty,

Formless stacks of bodies, and bodies by themselves
 * —dabs of flesh upon the masts and spars,

Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the
 * soothe of waves,

Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels,
 * strong scent,

Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and
 * fields by the shore, death-messages given in
 * charge to survivors,

The hiss of the surgeon's knife, the gnawing teeth of
 * his saw,

Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild
 * scream, and long dull tapering groan,

These so—these irretrievable.

O Christ! This is mastering me! Through the conquered doors they crowd. I am
 * possessed.

What the rebel said, gayly adjusting his throat to the
 * rope-noose,