THE DEATH OF THE SCHARNHORST

On Christmas Day in forty-three The Nazi Scharnhorst put to sea, For word somehow had reached Berlin An Allied convoy was within Two hundred miles of where she lay In some Norwegian, hidden bay. She went ahead, two-thirds her speed, A mighty, master-monster steed, She left the fjords, mountain walled, Where oft her echoing bugles called, She cleared the channel, marked the land Drop far astern on either hand. She steamed through fog and arctic day, And then at night, when darkness lay Completely over all the waste, The Scharnhorst charged with fuller haste To intercept the Allied ships Which dared these bold Murmansk-bound trips. Meanwhile the convoy, slow, serene, Behind an escort naval screen, Proceeded eastward off North Cape. The Scharnhorst sensed the coming rape, And manned her guns that early dawn, But this is what she came upon: The cruisers Norfolk, and Belfast, And Sheffield, all the long night past Had known the wild sea horse was free To terrorize the Northern Sea, And they had placed themselves between The charging Scharnhorst and the screen. The winter’s dawn was blackboard gray. The Scharnhorst held her plotted way. The Norfolk, Sheffield, and Belfast Were tense with waiting. Hours passed As closer these two forces drew, Determined ships, determined crew. The British sensed the approach of doom. The Scharnhorst paused within the gloom, But then a star shell, bursting high, Illumined her against the sky. The great seabeast began to snort From every nostril turret fort. The Sheffield’s guns belched smoke and flame; Belfast’s quick turrets did the same, The Norfolk’s screaming shell bursts bit The monster’s triple hull, a hit! The Scharnhorst screamed, she turned and fled To mend her wound, to count her dead. Belfast forbade his ships pursue. He judged what Scharnhorst meant to do, Pretend retreat and then renew Attack upon the convoy later. Scharnhorst’s speed he knew was greater, So he kept his course the straighter. Scharnhorst circled east and nor’ward, Hoped to bring her power forward. But the convoy changed its course To shun this grim, abhorrent horse. The cruisers cut the arc and then Awaited Scharnhorst’s charge again. When, hours later, tense with rage, The Scharnhorst, plotted to engage Just merchant ships and escort craft, Had reappeared to run the raft, She met instead the concerted blast Of Norfolk, Sheffield and Belfast. Once again the salvos thundered. Scharnhorst knew that she had blundered, While her gunners cursed and wondered Shells and fire as before Through the gloomy twilight tore, Swiftly, surely, more and more. The Norfolk’s afterdeck was hit, A blaze of flame, the air was lit. The Scharnhorst did not wait to see What damage or what victory. She turned once more in fearful dread, Homeward set her course and fled. For Scharnhorst was a worthy prize. Correctly had she made surmise That other ships, the British fleet, Would steam to intercept or meet, And so she fled, a wounded beast, To seek the dark, protective east. But all this while, to interplace Between the Scharnhorst and her base, To cut the Nazi monster’s course, To bridle all her vicious force, To leave a wreck of twisted torque, There steamed the mighty Duke of York. Two hundred miles away or more The Duke and her destroyers bore When first the battle message came. Belfast continued to proclaim The Scharnhorst’s course, and from this plot The Duke, her speed, position got. For brave Belfast, and Sheffield, too, And Norfolk this time did pursue. The Scharnhorst turned, she headed south, And flung herself into the mouth Of Duke, Jamaica, and the horde, Saumarez, Savage, Scorpion, Stord. “Illuminate the enemy!” Belfast’s bright shell broke high and free. The heavy night with heavy haze Had been descending, but the blaze Of light and brilliance caught the steed, Betrayed her form, her frothing speed. The Duke’s great turrets boldly spoke, Belched shell and fire, fume and smoke. Concussion tore the night around. The shells went screaming through the sound And landed close aboard the Hun, A “straddle” salvo number one. The Duke corrected plot and range And there began a fierce exchange Of shell and suffering. Scharnhorst blazed Where blasts and flame her structures razed. She turned to east in panicked fright And sought the dark, descending night. The Duke sped after, sending shell, Fired havoc, roaring hell Raining down upon the fleeing Battered, bruised and barely seeing Nazi supership which sped Ever more and more ahead. At last the Duke had lost the range. Her guns were silenced, but a strange New battle lit the horizon’s edge And smote the Scharnhorst like a sledge. She reared and tossed and bellowed toward Saumarez, Savage, Scorpion, Stord. She did not flee as fast, for they, More swiftly speeding on their way, O’ertook her and on either bow Engaged the bleeding Scharnhorst now. Her voice was wild, her aim was bad; She fought with all the guns she had. At forty knots the destroyers came. Ten thousand yards, they took their aim; Six thousand yards, without a change Of course or speed they closed the range. Two thousand yards, they launched their dread Torpedoes, and away they sped. The Scharnhorst snorted, scored a hit. Saumarez felt the blast of it. But then the launched torpedoes struck, And Scharnhorst’s inner heart was stuck. Her guns began a wild, red fire, She’d lost her speed, could not retire. By now the Duke of York had closed, And with another force composed Of Sheffield, Norfolk, and Belfast, Jamaica, and come up at last, Four escorts from the convoy screen, Began a new approach routine. The Scharnhorst shuddered, shell on shell From eight destroyers upon her fell. From four crack cruisers she sustained The heavy, horrid fire they trained. Each salvo from the Duke of York Left her unsteady as a cork. Around and round the battle raged, On every side she was engaged By greater force and stronger will, A broken thing of beauty still; And then the ships received command To stand well clear on every hand. The battle paused. The night returned, And in that dark the Scharnhorst burned. The swift and final act began. Jamaica left the cruiser van And headed toward the trembling pile Where life and metal burned the while. A neat destroyer trained her lights Upon the target and the sights Aboard Jamaica, set to kill, Could pledge the beast her final thrill. Jamaica swung. Torpedoes leapt, Their course and their appointment kept. A last great roar the Scharnhorst gave, Then rolled her fires beneath the wave, A wretched, moving, dying thing Within the watchful naval ring. The black, salt sea her vitals drank, And, quenched her thirst, the Scharnhorst sank.