THE VICKSBURG SCOW
A BALLAD
Brave Porter deals in hard, dry pokes
He's also good at a clever hoax
Of all his deeds, in fight or fun
The queer old scow is "Number One."
Abandoned by the rivers marge,
She had served her time as a coaling barge;
Of refuse planks he shaped her roof
Like iron-clads, quite cannon proof
Pork barrels old, with ne'er a head
As twin stacks arose, in chimneys stead
These vomited, to aid the joke
From hearths of mud, a dreadful smoke
In place of turret, on this raft'
(Oh wasn't she the drollest craft!)
He rigged, from some plantation stript,
A small outbuilding, nondescript.
Two guns of log, of frightful size,
Frowned from her ports, in grisly guise;
To fit this monster of the stream
To scare the Rebel's guilty dream
The moon was neither bright nor dim,
When Porter loosed this flat boat trim,
And let her drift, her course to steer,
With pilot none, nor engineer.
On Mississippi's eastern side,
The sentries soon her coming spied,
They raised the alarm at dead of night--
All Vicksburg waked in deadly fright.
Drummers and Generals, boy and man,
And gunners too, to quarters ran;
Oh, how they feared that awful ark
That loomed so large through midnight dark.
As fast as she in range drew near,
Their batteries roared in rage and fear;
Brimful when she begins to float,
No ball could sink this mystic boat.
They marveled much, she did not sink;
"She's shot-proof, sure!" the Rebels think;
Who ever heard of Yankee trick
That worked more than this more 'cute and slick
The Butternuts waste shell and shot,
Their cannonades get loud and hot.
They burn their powder, and burst their guns.
And shake the shores with deafening stuns.
Louder than powder, on our side,
Our soldiers laughed 'til they cried;
Some held their ribs, some rolled on grass,
To think Sesech was such an ass.
Not was this of laugh and gun,
The choicest part of Porter's fun.
The Queen of the West, was that captive ram,
Escaped by flight of a dreaded jam.
Away she went we know not where!
But hers was not the biggest scare, --
For down the stream, their biggest prey,
The captured Indianola lay.
They thought to fit this costly prize,
To run and "blast the Yankees eyes;"
But to blow her up, as the scow drew near--
Blew her to shivers, in their fear.
And so let their projects burst.
And blow to atoms Treason curst;
But long live our jolly tars
The UNION too, with the stripes and stars!

from
L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion 1866 p 363