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.