We hoisted up our top-sails and crost the tropic line.
The wind at west the leading gale,
Our gallant ship did sweetly sail;
Steady along she ne’er will fail,
_With all her British boys_.
‘Steady a port! don’t bring her by the lee!
Yonder is the flag-staff at Goree, I do see.’
We brought the city within sight,
Anchor’d in Goree bay that night,
Clear’d our ships ready to fight,
_Like brave British boys_.
Early next morning the _Prince Edward_ of forty guns
Was station’d off the island to cover our two bombs,
The old _Nassau_ she led the van,
With all her jovial fighting men,
The drums did beat ‘to quarter stand,’
_Like brave British boys_.
We sail’d up to their batteries as close as we could lay,
Our guns from the top and poop aloud did play,
Which made the French cry ‘Morbleu!
Diable! what shall we do?
Here comes bold Sawyer and all his crew,
_They’re all British boys_.’
Then, follow’d by the _Dunkirk_ and _Torbay_,
The guns aloud did rattle and shells did play,
Which made the French their batteries shun,
And from their trenches for to run,
The flag was struck, the fight was done,
_O huzza! my British boys_.
The _Nassau_ and _Dunkirk_ and _Torbay_ of renown,
Three as fine ships as belong to the crown,
The only ships that fought so free,
In taking of the isle of Goree,
_They are all British boys_.
Boast not of Frenchmen nor yet of Maclome, [_sic_]
Sawyer’s as big a hero as ever you did hear,
Whilst the shot around him did flee,
In engaging twice the isle of Goree,
As valiant men as ever you see,
_They are all British boys_.
Here’s a health to King George our sovereign majesty,
Likewise to bold Sawyer that fought the French so free,
Our officers and all our crew
Are valiant men as e’er you knew,
So here’s a health to each true blue,
_My brave British boys_.
_CAPTAIN BARTON’S DISTRESS ON BOARD THE LICHFIELD, BEING UNDER SLAVERY
SEVENTEEN MONTHS AND FOURTEEN DAYS._
Come all you brave seamen that plows on the main,
Give ear to my story [I’m] true to maintain;
Concerning the _Lichfield_ that was cast away
On the Barbary shore by the dawn of the day.
The tenth of November, the weather being fine,
We sailed from Kingsale, five ships of the line,
With two bombs and two frigates with transports also,
We was bound unto Goree to fight our proud foe.
The 29th of November, by dawn of the light,
We spied land that put us in a fright,
We strove for to weather, but we run quite aground,
The seas mountain high made our sorrow abound.
Our mast we cut away, our wreck for to ease,
And being exposed to the mercy of the seas;
Where one hundred and thirty poor seamen did die,
Whilst we all for mercy most loudly did cry.
Two hundred and twenty of us got on shore;
No sooner we landed but strip’d by the Moors,
Without any subsistence but dead hogs and sheep,
That was drove on shore by the sea from the ship.
For seven days together we thus did remain,
Our bodys quite naked for to increase our pain;
Till some Christian merchant that lives in the land,
[He] sent us relief by his bountiful hand [_sic_],
Unto our fleet the same fate did share, [_sic_]
Then unto Morocco we all marched there,
Where they are captives in slavery to be,
Till old England thought proper for to set them free.
When the black king we all come before,
He stroked his long beard, and by Mahomet he swore,
‘They are all stout and able and fit for the hoe,
Pray to my gardens, pray let them go.’
We had cruel Moors our drivers to be,
By the dawn of the day at the hoe we must be;
Untill four o’clock in the afternoon,
Without any remission, boys, work was our doom.
If that you offer for to strike a Moor,
Straightway to the king they will have you before,
Where they will basternade you till you have your fill,
If that will not do, your blood they will spill.
So now in Morocco we shall remain,
Untill our ambassador cross[es] the main;
Where our ransom he’ll bring, and soon set us free,
And then to Gibraltar we’ll go speedily.
So now, my brave boys, to old England we’re [bound],
We will have store of liquors our sorrow to drown.
We will drink a good health, success never fall [_sic_]
[Bad] cess to the bawd and the whores of Kingsale.
_GILCHRIST [AND] HOTHAM’S BRAVERY: A NEW SONG._
On their taking a large French ship of forty guns after a bloody
engagement of three hours, and bringing her into Yarmouth.
You heroes of England, I pray you attend
Unto these new verses, which lately were penn’d;
It’s of a bloody battle, I tell you plain,
Fought by Captain Hotham on the raging main.
His ship she is called _Melampe_ by name,
Of thirty-six guns, a fine frigate of fame;
As he was a cruising one day by great chance,
He espied a frigate belonging to France
Who many rich prizes from England had ta’en,
When Hotham espied her on the raging main.
‘I’m glad that I’ve found her,’ he then did reply;
‘Thou shalt go to England, or else by thee I’ll die.’
The wind being fair, we soon her overtook,
She was full of men, and boldly they look;
She turned then upon us, with abundance of pride,
And instantly gave us a thundering broadside.
We gave them another, as good as they sent;
To take, or be taken, was our full intent.
Their metal was heavy, yet we did not care,
But stood to our quarters, and did them not fear.
Like true British heroes our guns we did play,
‘Fight boldly,’ says Hotham, ‘we shall win the day.
When as she is ta’en, for your valour so rare,
Ev’ry man in the ship shall have his just share.’
The _Southampton_ she then triumphant did ride,
Brave Gilchrist he gave them a warming broadside.
With true British courage our guns we did load,
Which brought down her masts close by the board.
Upon Gilchrist’s shoulder a ball did graze;
But the wound was not fatal, the Lord be prais’d;
And tho’ he was so wounded, he smiling did say,
‘She is so disabled, she can’t run away.’
She struck to us quickly, we boarded her then,
We killed her more than an hundred men;
The father and son they both captains were,
And dy’d of their wounds, for truth we do hear.
Sure valianter captains never drew breath,
Than Gilchrist and Hotham, unless it was Death.
God prosper them both unto their lives end;
By a true loyal subject these verses were penn’d.
_HAWKE’S ENGAGEMENT._
The fourteenth of [Nov]ember, in Torbay as we lay,
Bold Hawke did hoist his flag, sir, and came on board that day.
Kind Neptune did protect us, with a sweet and pleasant breeze,
We hoisted up our topsails, [to cross] the raging seas.
We had not crossed the raging seas full thirty leagues or more,
We spy’d a sail to windward, and down on us she bore.
O then he hail’d our admiral, and thus to him did say:
‘The French fleet’s all sailed out, sir, and bound for Quiberon Bay.’
‘Can you tell me at what distance, and where about they lay?’
‘O yes, kind sir,’ he then replied, ‘it’s thirty leagues to-day.
There’s twenty-two sail of the line to leeward of us do lie,
All clean and tight for action as ever you did see.’
Then up bespoke our captain bold, to Edward Hawke did say:
‘This is the finest news, sir, that’s brought to us this day.’
Then Hawke himself soon mounted upon the lofty yard;
His wings were spread at large, my boys, and after them we steer’d.
The fifteenth of [Nov]ember, the morning being clear,
When twenty-two sail of the line to leeward did appear.
All hands! all hands! did rattle, a glorious sight to see;
Unto the fight prepar’d, my boys, like lions bold and free.
We steer’d unto the French fleet as near as we could ly,
Till twelve of them engaged us, and that most speedily.
They made a bloody battle, the like was never seen;
The first broadside we gave them, boys, we laid them on their beams.
‘Oh! that’s a glorious broadside,’ our admiral replies;
‘Now give them such another, their ships will be a prize.’
Like thunder on the French fleet our cannons they did roar,
We sunk the pride of France, my boys, all on their native shore.
O! don’t you see the pride of France to the depths is going down,
With many a dismal sigh, sir, and many a grievous groan.
Conflans was sore affrighted, he could no longer stay;
The rest of them turn’d tail, my boys, like cowards ran away.
O, then they steer’d for Corjack Bay, where we led them a dance,
It proved to be the fatal blow that sunk the crown of France.
The _Rising Sun_ we burn’d, and the poor _Prince_ likewise,
And two of them we sunk, my boys, and one we made our prize.
So now the fight is over, fill up a flowing bowl;
Whilst we’re upon the raging seas there’s none can us controul.
Here’s a health to all commanders that are loyal just and true,
Likewise unto Sir Edward Hawke, and the _Royal George’s_ crew.
_NEPTUNE’S RESIGNATION._
The wat’ry god, great Neptune, lay
In dalliance soft and amorous play
On Amphitrite’s breast;
When uproar rear’d its horrid head,
The Tritons shrunk, the Nereids fled,
And all their fear confess’d.
Loud thunder shook the vast domain,
The liquid world was wrapt in flame,
The god amazed spoke:
‘Ye winds go forth and make it known
Who dares to shake my coral throne,
And fill my realms with smoke!’
The winds, obsequious at his word,
Sprung strongly up t’ obey their lord,
And saw two fleets a-weigh:
The one, victorious Hawke, was thine;
The other, Conflans’ wretched line,
In terror and dismay.
Appal’d, they view Britannia’s sons
Deal death and slaughter from their guns,
And strike the deadly blow,
Which caused ill-fated Gallic slaves
To find a tomb in briny waves,
And sink to shades below.
With speed they fly and tell their chief
That France was ruin’d past relief,
And Hawke triumphant rode.
‘Hawke!’ cry’d the fair, ‘pray who is he
That dare usurp this power at sea,
And thus insult a god?’
The winds reply: ‘In distant lands
There reigns a king who Hawke commands;
He scorns all foreign force;
And when his floating castles roll,
From sea to sea, from pole to pole,
Great Hawke directs their course.
‘Or when his winged bullets fly
To punish fraud and perfidy,
Or scourge a guilty land,
Then gallant Hawke, serenely great,
Tho’ death and horror round him wait,
Performs his dread command!’
Neptune with wonder heard the story
Of George’s sway and Britain’s glory,
Which time shall ne’er subdue;
Boscawen’s deeds, and Saunders’ fame,
Join’d with brave Wolfe’s immortal name,
Then cry’d, ‘Can this be true?
‘A king! he sure must be a god!
Who has such heroes at his nod,
To govern earth and sea!
I yield my trident and my crown,
A tribute due to such renown!
Great George shall rule for me!’
_HEARTS OF OAK._
(_In Harlequin’s Invasion, sung by Champness, 1759_).
The words by David Garrick. The music by Dr. Boyce.
Come cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer,
To add something new to this wonderful year:
To honour we call you, not press you like slaves,
For who are so free as we sons of the waves?
_Hearts of oak are our ships,
Hearts of oak are our men,
We always are ready,
Steady, boys, steady,
We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again._
We ne’er see our foes but we wish them to stay;
They never see us but they wish us away:
If they run, why we follow, and run them on shore,
For if they won’t fight us, we cannot do more.
_Hearts of oak, etc._
They swear they’ll invade us, these terrible foes,
They’ll frighten our women, and children, and beaux;
But should their flat-bottoms in darkness get o’er,
Still Britons they’ll find to receive them on shore.
_Hearts of oak, etc._
We’ll still make them run and we’ll still make them sweat,
In spite of the Devil and Brussels Gazette.
Then cheer up, my lads, with one voice let us sing,
Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, and King.
_Hearts of oak, etc._
_THUROT’S DREAM._
The twenty-first of February, as I’ve heard the people say,
Three French ships of war came and anchored in our bay:
They hoisted English colours and landed at Kilroot,
And marched their men for Carrick without further dispute.
Colonel Jennings being there, at that pretty town,
His heart it was a-breaking while the enemy came down;
He could not defend it for the want of powder and ball,
And aloud to his enemies for ‘quarter’ did call.
As Thurot in his cabin lay he dreamed a dream:
That his grandsire’s voice came to him and called him by his name,
Saying, ‘Thurot, your’e to blame for lying so long here,
For the English will be in this night, the wind it bloweth fair.’
Then Thurot started up, and said unto his men:
‘Weigh your anchors, my brave lads, and let us begone;
We’ll go off this very night, make all the haste you can,
And we’ll steer south and south-east, straight for the Isle of Man.’
Upon the next day the wind it blew north-west,
And Elliot’s gallant seamen they sorely were oppressed;
They could not get in that night, the wind it blew so high;
And as for Monsieur Thurot, he was forced for to lie by.
Early the next morning, as daylight did appear,
Brave Elliot he espied them, which gave to him great cheer.
It gave to him great cheer, and he to his men did say:
‘Boys, yonder’s Monsieur Thurot, we’ll shew him warm play.’
The first ship that came up was the _Brilliant_ without doubt,
She gave to them a broadside, and then she wheeled about;
The other two then followed her, and fired another round.
‘Oh, oh! my lads,’ says Thurot; ‘this is not Carrick town.’
Then out cried Monsieur Thurot, with his visage pale and wan:
‘Strike, strike your colours, brave boys, or they’ll sink us--every
man;
Their weighty shot comes in so hot on both the weather and the lee;
Strike your colours, my brave boys, or they’ll sink us in the sea.’
Before they got their colours struck great slaughter there was made,
And many a gallant Frenchman on Thurot’s decks lay dead;
They came tumbling down the shrouds, upon his deck they lay,
While our brave Irish heroes cut their booms and yards away.
* * * * *
And as for Monsieur Thurot, as I’ve heard people say,
He was taken up by Elliot’s men and buried in Ramsey Bay.
Now for to conclude, and put an end unto my song,
To drink a health to Elliot, I hope it is not wrong;
And may all French invaders be served the same way;
Let the English beat the French by land, our Irish boys on sea.
_A NEW SONG ON THE GALLANT BEHAVIOUR OF CAPTAIN O’BRIAN AND
CAPTAIN TAYLOR._
A new song on the gallant behaviour of Captain O’Brian, commander of
his Majesty’s ship the _Temple_, and Captain Taylor, commander of the
_Griffin_, in destroying three privateers and the fortifications on one
of the French West India Islands.
Observe this true relation, and listen unto me;
’Tis of a bloody battle, lately fought upon the sea,
By brave Captain O’Brian and his bold English tars,
Commander of that gallant ship, the _Temple_ man-of-war.
The pretty little _Griffin_ did bear her company;
And as they were a-sailing by chance they did espy,
Nigh unto Martinico they did espy there fair,
Three privateers belonging to the French, and after them did steer.
O’Brian said, ‘My English lads, now is the only time
To cool the lofty Frenchmen’s pride as they sail in their prime’;
They answered their captain, ‘We will the Frenchmen scare,
We’ll venture life and limbs with you in the _Temple_ man-of-war.’
The wind it proved fair, and we after them did steer,
And in a little time, brave boys, we did to them draw near;
A broadside then we gave them, which made the Frenchmen stare,
They little dream’d so nigh they’d got the _Temple_ man-of-war.
The pretty little _Griffin_ behaved most manfully,
Like showers of hail from our two ships our fiery balls did fly;
The privateers they all three struck to us immediately,
And from their batteries they fir’d, but could not us come nigh.
We turned [unto] their batteries and briskly fired away,
Until their guns and walls, brave boys, came tumbling in the sea;
Their forces they did run for fear, they were so sorely scar’d,
At the pretty little _Griffin_ bold and the _Temple_ man-of-war.
Then further in the harbour two ships we did espy,
Also a strong grand battery, and at them we let fly.
For four days we did stay there, and every night and morn
We did give them a grand salute, and we fired our evening guns.
Two batteries we did then destroy, and five ships took away,
And brought them safe to Guadaloupe, where now they all do stay.
There is but one [man] kill’d, behold, and five that wounded are,
In the pretty little _Griffin_ bold and the _Temple_ man-of-war.
_A NEW SONG ON THE TAKING OF HAVANNAH._
Give ear, true Britons to my song, and joyful acclamations;
’Tis the noble deeds now done by our own relations.
While Albemarle did command, Pocock and General Keppel:
Let Moro Fort, and Spaniards vaunt if Britons be unable.
Against Havannah we set sail, with a fleet of combination;
Land troops we likewise had on board, to pay off Spain’s aggression.
We moor’d our ships, and landed our troops, the Spaniards came down
raging;
But they found we were true British boys, as we their fury were
swaging.
We chac’d the Spaniards thro’ the woods, and hunted them like mawkin,
And turn’d up hundreds in their fuds, the rest ran homeward quaking.
For though they came in thousands on, our fire would make them
scatter,
But we true Britons kept our ground, while blood did run like water.
The Spaniards judg’d the Moro’s fort the Briton’s strength would
banter,
But when we blew it up i’ the air, they tuned another chanter.
Bold Harvey with three noble ships their walls by sea did batter,
While we bombarded it on land, and did their out-works clatter.
But never was heard such woful thuds as the _Cambridge_ and
_Marlborough_ [did give ’em]
The _Dragon_ fired as brisk as they, but for smoak none could
perceive them.
The _Cambridge_ got her captain shot, and a hundred more beside him,
Brave Harvey then his station quit, for five long hours he try’d
them.
But finding it bomb and cannon proof, we then did give it over,
And sprung a mine below their walls, which split the rocks in
shivers.
Some Spaniards went up with the blast, which made their fellows
wonder,
Such a hideous roar ne’er heard before, it far exceeded thunder.
Then we approach’d upon a breach, our firelocks cock’d and ready,
Where the Spaniards met us for a brush, imploring on their Lady
To aid Velasco a Spaniard bold, a valiant sea commander,
Who vow’d for to defend his fort, while Marza kept up his standard.
O, then began the bloody fray, with bayonets and broad swords
champing,
Through bones and bellies we made our way, and dying men under us
trampling;
Of seven hundred Spaniards here, scarce left alive was eighty,
Velasco by his standard fell, whose deeds were counted mighty.
Then to Havannah we did march, and trenches rais’d like mountains,
Then cut away their water pipes, which supplied them with fresh
fountains,
Our batteries then began to play, with roars aloud like thunder,
Which dash’d their walls and chimnies down, yet loath for to knock
under.
O, then with bombs and fiery balls, threatened their utter ruin,
Which rais’d such cries, as pierc’d the skies, for mercy they were
suing.
[Juan] de Prado to British tars was loath to be subjected,
But brave Albemarle told him his fate was then to be ransacked,
Or buried in the city’s ruin, him and his whole fraternity;
This made him to subjection yield, and so they were disarmed;
All stores and treasures of the place are bought by Briton’s glory,
Seven ships; their arms and everything, and that’s a noble story.
O, then with honour we lin’d their gates, and bravery to our wishing,
And turn’d Don Spaniard from their posts, which they held by
commission;
May our noble King prosper long, and all his brave commanders,
Who bravely led on Britain’s sons, to knock down popish standards.
_LORD ANSON AND HAWKE._
Ye brave _British sailors_, true sons of the main,
Who scorn to submit to the insults of _Spain_,
Leave to landsmen their politick schemes and their talk,
And enter on board the _Lord Anson_ and _Hawke_.
These two noble heroes, whose names our ships bear,
Made the _Spaniards_ to tremble, the _Frenchmen_ to fear;
Secure of success, then, your fortune ne’er balk,
But enter on board the _Lord Anson_ and _Hawke_.
Let the wise politicians of _France_ and of _Spain_,
Threat to take from _Great Britain_ her rule o’er the main;
Their plate ships shall pay for their arrogant talk,
If they come but in sight of the _Anson_ and _Hawke_.
The wages, the ingots, the wealth of Peru,
The Spaniards are getting and hoarding for you;
You shall ride in your coaches, whilst cowards shall walk,
Who durst not engage in the _Anson_ and _Hawke_.
Then aboard, my brave lads, and with hearts stout and true,
The road unto riches and glory pursue;
That your wives may dress fine, and your children may talk
Of your noble exploits in the _Anson_ and _Hawke_.
Here’s a health to King George, and his consort so true,
May their laurels sit pleasing and well on their brow;
To Hutchinson and Dickson, who for courage never baulk,
Then fill up your glasses, boys, to the _Lord Anson_ and _Hawke_.
_Huzza, brave boys, the Lord Anson and Hawke._
_A NEW SONG ON THE BLANDFORD PRIVATEER._
Ye seamen who’ve a mind to go in pursuit of new adventures,
Repair on board the _Blandford_, with Captain Stonehouse enter,
Who cruizing goes to meet his foes, such pastime sure must please us,
We’ll prizes make of all we take; this will to fortune raise us.
Here is our chief encouragement, our ship belongs to Bristol,
Poor Londoners when coming home, they surely will be press’d all:
We’ve no such fear when home we steer with prizes under convoy,
We’ll frolick round all Bristol town, sweet liberty we enjoy.
Why should we here our time delay, in London void of pleasure,
Let’s haste away to Biscay Bay, and ransack there for treasure.
Here we must creep and play bo-peep, to shun the damn’d press
masters,
We live in strife, even die in life, confin’d by catch-pole bastards.
A health to Captain Stonehouse, success attend the _Blandford_,
Five guineas is advanced us, come then let us enter on board;
With the _Blandford’s_ guns we’ll smoak the Dons, their ragged
staff we’ll humble,
Jack Frenchmen too shall cry morbleu, we’ll give them cause to
grumble.
Come fill your flowing glasses, let us drink and be merry;
Take leave of all your lasses, we can no longer tarry;
Girls, never fear, ye soon shall hear of the _Blandford’s_ safe
arrival,
To Bristol town then haste ye down, your sweethearts to revive all.
_THE SAILORS’ DIALOGUE._
Tune, _Gossip Joan_.
TOM.
How goes it, brother Jack? You are grown such a beau now,
Had I but seen your back damn me if I had known you,
Brother Jack.
JACK.
What cheer, old messmate Tom? You look as if you’d cry now;
But I have news from home will make you jump mast high now,
Messmate Tom.
Since our brave towering Hawke has shown the French his talons,
’Twill soon be peace they talk; if so we’ll drink off gallons
To brave Hawke.
TOM.
Huzza! my hearty cock! For this news damn all sorrow,
I’ll pawn my shirt and frock, but I’ll get drunk to-morrow,
Hearty cock!
JACK.
When all the ship are paid we’ll lead a merry life, boy;
Blood! then how we’ll parade with ev’ry one his wife, boy,
When we’re paid.
TOM.
Nay, some will have their pairs, they’ll be so open-hearted;
And brimstones will have chairs, that rather should be carted,
All in pairs,
JACK.
Our proud lieutenants then, those empty flashing sporters,
May pimps turn to great men, companions to their porters,
Not proud then.
TOM.
Our midshipmen now beaux, it makes me laugh to think, boys,
Will cry about old cloaths, and corporals turn link-boys
To those beaux.
JACK.
Amongst the damn’d odd scenes you’ll see in jails and cages
Lieutenants of marines, and doctors’ mates on stages.
Damn’d odd scenes.
TOM.
The steward, dirty slave, that us’d to cheat us daily,
Will still remain a knave, and follow some bum-baily.
Dirty slave!
BOTH.
That day then, jolly buck, we’ll set the taps a-flowing,
And drink ‘rest and great luck’ to Pitt, Hawke, and Boscawen,
Jolly buck!
_DISTRESSED MEN OF WAR._
Says Jack, ‘There is very good news; there is peace both by land
and by sea;
Great guns no more shall be used, for we all disbanded must be.’
Says the admiral, ‘That’s very bad news;’ says the captain, ‘My
heart it will break;’
The lieutenant cries, ‘What shall I do? for I know not what course
for to take.’
Says the purser, ‘I’m a gentleman born; my coat is lined with gold,
And my chest is full of the same, by cheating of sailors so bold.’
Says the doctor, ‘I’m a gentleman too, I’m a gentleman of the first
rank;
I will go to some country fair, and there I’ll set up mountebank.’
Says the steward, ‘I’m sorry it’s peace, for I love my ship as my
life,
And by cheating of honest Jack Tars I have plenty of shiners so
bright.’