The SS Sultana’s Disaster
Midnight deep on the river wide,
The Sultana steams with the turning tide.
Her decks are laden, a heavy freight,
Of soldier souls who escaped the war’s hard fate.
From Cahaba’s gloom and Andersonville’s shade,
To Vicksburg’s levee, their long march made.
Now, home is calling, a northern star so bright,
A dream of mothers’ smiles in the dark Mississippi night.
The great side wheels in the water churn,
For these weary souls, the promise of return.
But pressure mounts in the boiler four,
Strained and patched, they can take no more.
The clock strikes two, a blinding, scalding blast,
The dream of home is shattered, sinking fast.
The air’s alive with a fiery scream,
As hundreds perish by steam and flame.
Into the frigid, turbulent river they leap,
A tragic harvest the waters reap.
The overloaded boat breaks apart and burns low,
A floating inferno in the river’s flow.
Muffled by surrender, and Lincoln’s final rest,
The nation’s worst maritime test.
Forgotten quickly, a chapter quickly closed,
But in the river’s mud, their silent stories are composed.
Their memory lives, though the headlines fade,
A solemn tribute to the price that was paid.
Of freedom found, and then denied its grace,
In the river’s cold and unforgiving pace.
(1,800 of the 2,400 mostly freed POW Union soldiers, and 100 passengers and eight crewmen onboard perished in the fast spreading flames, or drowned in the frigid Mississippi River)
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