AT the battle of Lake Champlain, a sailor, called Portuguese
Joe, performed the gallant exploit of nailing the stripes and
stars to the mast, after they had been shot down. He perished in
the flames at the late fire in Exchange Place, New-Orleans.
UPON the lake the battle raged,
And warmly was each heart engaged,
To win their nation's liberty--
To conquer or to die!
The iron hail was flying fast
Against the sail, against the mast,
And many a warm and gallant frame
The prey of death became.
And louder grew the cannon's sound,
And faster flew the balls around,
And sadly rose above the strife
The groans of parting life!
Still the brave tars beheld with pride
The stripes and stars exulting ride
Where many an eye was fondly cast,
Upon the towering mast.
But hark! a shot! 'twas guided well,
And suddenly the colors fell!
Another--and another--now
The flag is lying low!
Upon the deck the stripes and stars
Dip in the blood of dying tars;
Oh! surely 'tis a glorious stain,
The life-blood of the slain!
But who is this who nobly dares
Replace those precious stripes and stars?
The tattered shrouds his fingers seize!--
'Tis Joe--the Portuguese!
Into the rigging quick he springs,
Close to the splintered mast he clings,
And now aloft how eagerly
Is gazing every eye!
A long, a loud, a deafening cheer,
Bursts from each gallant sailor near,
Behold! the flag of liberty
Again is waving free!
Three cheers! the flag once more is spread,
Joe's shining hat waves o'er his head!
And hark! a shout of triumph now!
Three cheers from those below!
The fight is o'er--the battle done;
'Twas bravely fought--'twas bravely won;
And Joe a glorious part did play,
That long-remembered day!
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Long years have passed, and Joe is dead;
His ashes to the winds are spread;
Long live within our memories
Brave Joe--the Portuguese!
_Charleston, June, 1843._