We will fire at his breastworks and make him let us in;
Our bomb-shells and cannons shall roar like mighty thunder,
And by our constant firing we will make them to surrender.
And when the wars are over, if fortune saves our lives,
We will bring great store of riches to our sweethearts and our wives,
And drink a health unto the lad that has a heart to enter;
That man can never gain a prize that is afraid to venture.
_ON THE LATE ENGAGEMENT IN CHARLES TOWN RIVER._
Good people of Old England, come, listen unto me,
All you who live at home at ease, and from all dangers free,
What I’m a-going to mention, and to you shall declare,
Concerning part of our fleet as they a-cruising were.
It is of a late action, as for a truth we hear,
As part of our British fleet for Charles Town they did steer;
As we the river sailed along the provincials they begun;
The _Bristol_, most unfortunate, she on the bar did run.
Then from the town and batteries they fired on us amain
With red-hot shot all from the shore, on board of us they came;
And seeing us lie on the bar, their intentions was so,
Our gallant ship for to blow up and prove our overthrow.
But thro’ God’s Providence so great prevented their desire,
Tho’ with their shot, that came so hot, they set us twice on fire;
But soon we out the flames did put, our gallant seamen brave
They did their best endeavours their precious lives to save.
The gallant _Bristol_ well behaved, tho’ she was in distress,
And all the ships in company kept firing in excess.
Our cannons briskly we dis[charged], our shot like hail did pour,
Amongst the blacks and Indians so numerous on the shore.
We drove them from their batteries, and made them to retreat,
Likewise the town soon shattered with our gallant fleet;
We gave them a warm reception, and that they knew so well,
Because against Old England great they strongly did rebel.
We engaged many hours, for the best part of the day;
Our brave commander he was kill’d all in the bloody fray;
Two hundred more brave men were kill’d, th’ engagement prov’d so
sore,
Upon the decks, poor souls, they lay, all in their purple gore.
Now to conclude and make an end, Lord, send it was all o’er,
In love and unity to live as we have done before;
Success unto all Britons bold, that’s both by land or sea,
Who now is venturing their lives in North America.
_SULLIVAN’S ISLAND._
1776.
A NEW WAR SONG.
My lords, with your leave
An account will I give
That deserves to be written in metre:
For the rebels and I
Have been pretty nigh--
Faith, almost too much for Sir Peter.
With much labour and toil
Unto Sullivan’s Isle
I came, firm as Falstaff or Pistol,
But the Yankees (’od rot ’em,
I could not get at ’em)
Most terribly maul’d my poor _Bristol_.
Bold Clinton by land
Did quietly stand
While I made a thundering clatter;
But the channel was deep,
So he only could peep
And not venture over the water.
De’el take ’em; their shot
Came so swift and so hot,
And the cowardly dogs stood so stiff, sirs,
That I put ship about,
And was glad to get out,
Or they would not have left me a skiff, sirs.
Now bold as a Turk
I proceed to New York,
Where with Clinton and Howe you may find me.
I’ve the wind in my tail,
And am hoisting my sail,
To leave Sullivan’s Island behind me.
But, my lords, do not fear,
For before the next year,
Although a small island could fret us,
The continent whole
We shall take, by my soul,
If the cowardly Yankees will let us.
[_THE CRUISERS._]
A NEW SONG, ADAPTED TO THE TIMES.
[To the Tune of _A Hunting we will go!_ = ‘_The Dusky Night_.’]
Behold, upon the swelling wave, with streaming pendants gay,
Our gallant ship invites the brave, while glory leads the way.
_And a-cruising we will go, oho! oho! oho!
A-cruising we will go, oho! and a-cruising we will go!_
Ye beauteous maids, your smiles bestow; for if you prove unkind
How can we hope to beat the foe? We leave our hearts behind.
_When a-cruising we shall go, oho! oho! oho! etc._
See Keppel’s flag once more display’d; upon the deck he stands;
Old England’s glory ne’er can fade or tarnish in his hands.
_So a-cruising we will go, etc._
Be England to herself but true, to France defiance hurl’d,
Give peace, America, with you, and war with all the world.
_And a-cruising we will go, etc._
_ON BOARD OF THE ‘ARETHUSA.’_
Come, all ye jolly sailors bold,
Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould,
While British glory I unfold
Huzza to the _Arethusa_!
She is a frigate tight and brave
As ever stemm’d the dashing wave:
Her men are staunch
To their fav’rite launch;
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike we’ll all expire
On board of the _Arethusa_.
’Twas with the spring fleet she went out,
The English Channel to cruize about,
When four French sail, in show so stout,
Bore down on the _Arethusa_.
The fam’d _Belle Poule_ straight ahead did lie:
The _Arethusa_ seem’d to fly;
Not a sheet nor a tack
Or a brace did she slack,
Tho’ the Frenchmen laugh’d, and thought it stuff,
But they knew not the handful of men how tough
On board of the _Arethusa_.
On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France;
We with two hundred did advance,
On board of the _Arethusa_.
Our captain hail’d the Frenchman, ‘Ho!’
The Frenchman then cried out, ‘Hallo!’
‘Bear down; d’ye see?
To our admiral’s lee.’
‘No, no,’ says the Frenchman, ‘that can’t be.’
‘Then I must lug you along with me,’
Says the saucy _Arethusa_.
The fight was off the Frenchman’s land.
We forc’d them back upon the strand;
For we fought till not a stick would stand
Of the gallant _Arethusa_.
And, now we have driven the foe ashore,
Never to fight with Britons more,
Let each fill a glass
To his favourite lass;
A health to the captain and officers true
And all that belong to the jovial crew
On board of the _Arethusa_.
_THE GREENLAND MEN._
A excellent new song, composed by 18 Greenlandmen in the _Swan_ Tender
hold in Leith Roads, June 2d, 17780 [_sic_].
To the Tune _We’ll go no more to Greenland in a ship that has
no guns_.
On board the noble _Ann_, 27th. of March, from Shields to Greenland
we set sail,
The wind it blowing fair with a sweet and pleasant gale.
We had not sailed many days when Fair Isle we did see,
But on the next day morning in with a privateer fell we,
_We’ll go, etc._
She bore down upon us, and upon our quarter she did come;
She hoisted French colours and to windward fired a gun;
This greatly did surprize us, and to quarters we did go.
It never shall be said, my boys, but the noble _Ann_ will face the
foe.
_We’ll go, etc._
All hands being at quarters to work we did begin;
The first broadside she gave us down our topsailyards did come.
Our captain call’d, ‘Don’t be afraid, but fight away, like men;
It never shall be said, my boys, that we will run from them.’
_We’ll go, etc._
Our guns being few in number, the number being but five,
To fire them it is needless till we can him espy.
He play’d upon our bow and quarter; the shot it came like hail:
To get our guns to bear upon him made us both curse and rail.
_We’ll go, etc._
Our guns set for the best advantage alongside they did come.
We said we need not fire till execution [could] be done;
As soon as they bore upon him we immediately let drive,
And wounded three of his Irishmen. ’Tis a pity we left them alive.
_We’ll go, etc._
Our captain walked the quarterdeck like a lion stout,
Cry’d, ‘Don’t let it be said, my boys, we cowardly give it out.’
Our running ropes, sails, and rigging being all shot away,
Our ship in this condition could neither wear nor stay.
_We’ll go, etc._
We fought them five glasses, but found it all in vain;
You see she carries 18 guns and we’re sure for to be taken;
Our captain cry’d, ‘What must we do? To strike it will be best;
The cutter never will leave us until they see us lost.’
_We’ll go, etc._
Then seeing us an inferior force they unto us did shout,
Saying, ‘You poor English dogs, why don’t you give it out?’
We found it was in vain to fight; down colours we did hawl;
‘Hoist out your boat and come aboard’ [unto] us, they did call.
_We’ll go, etc._
O then our captain went aboard, and part of our noble crew.
They beat the captain on the head and swore they would run him
through;
Now into their hold they put us, bound into irons strong,
And for twelve days they kept us where we were thick and throng.
_We’ll go, etc._
The first meal that they gave us was calavances and salt beef,
Which made us curse fortune and wish for some relief;
We lying in this condition, for Ireland Captain Ray in did push
Unto the Irish Channel, where he was bound to cruise.
_We’ll go, etc._
They had not cruised many days, but only four or five,
Until they spied the _Friends_ brig and soon made her a prize;
But cruising two days longer in breast of Boron Head,
Which proved to our advantage, they took the _Jenny_ brig.
_We’ll go, etc._
Ransom being made for her, it being all agreed
For to knock off our irons and put us aboard with speed,
We’re now on board the _Jenny_. To Glasgow she is bound,
And to secure us from the press we landed in a Highland sound.
_We’ll go, etc._.
Now to our joy and comfort we’re landed all on shore,
And to Newcastle we are bound, to see our friends once more.
But travelling thro’ the Highlands, the people, very poor,
They scarce would admit us to come within their door.
_We’ll go, etc._
We being in this condition we travelled long and sore,
But as we came to the southward more pity they did show,
At last meeting with one John Robson, who proved very kind,
And for three days he kept us and maintained us like a friend.
_We’ll go, etc._
After this refreshment on our journey we do proceed,
But coming near to Edinburgh we met a rogue indeed,
Who pretended to be our friend, but [with] an evil eye,
For then he did deceive us, as we in the barns did lie.
_We’ll go, etc._
Next morning after two o’clock 50 of Neper’s gang
Came with sword and pistol to take 10 naked men.
They finding us able seamen, as we knew very well,
They gave us such an offer as is a shame to tell.
_We’ll go, etc._
Now we are all taken, and to Leith we do come
Before Captain Neper to receive our doom.
We were that night in two barns as we were ne’er before,
Or we had broke some of these ruffians’ heads and made them for to
roar.
_We’ll go, etc._
He told us we might enter if that we would pay
Forty shillings a man to the rogue that did us betray;
But Neper’s high offer we rejected with disdain,
But we’ll fight for our King against France and against Spain.
_We’ll go, etc._
But I hope in short time sweet peace will be restor’d,
And the Devil will have Neper tho’ we’re in the hold.
When peace is restor’d to Leith we will come,
To pay Neper and his men for what they have done.
_We’ll go, etc._
Come, all you jolly seamen that to Greenland do go,
We wish you good success, alltho’ we go no more,
For we are forced to serve the King on board of a man-o-war;
But expects to return with gold and silver store.
_We’ll go, etc._
_ADMIRAL KEPPEL TRIUMPHANT; OR, MONSIEURS IN THE SUDS._
Each bold British tar,
Who ne’er dreads wound or scar,
Now to honour and glory advance;
Never let it be told
That Britons so bold
Shall stoop to be conquer’d by France.
This American war
Had ne’er gone on so far
Had they not been supported by France;
But Keppel so brave,
Such music he’ll have,
Will teach them the Old English dance.
Tho’ railing there’s been
’Gainst statesmen and King
And they said, we durst not declare war,
But, whether or not,
Such a navy we’ve got
That will soon be a scourge to Monsieur.
Bold Keppel, we know,
Was ever their foe,
And his courage no Briton need doubt;
Two French frigates he’s ta’en,
That were sailing the main
Our West India fleet for to rout.
Now Keppel, they say,
Off Brest Harbour does lay:
Monsieurs with their fleet can’t come out;
If they do they must fight,
Which was ne’er their delight.
We shall beat them; of that there’s no doubt.
Each true British soul,
Push round can or bowl,
Drink success to his Majesty’s arms
And his navy at sea;
Then we all must agree
We fear no invading alarms.
_KEPPEL AND DE CHARTRES._
A NEW SONG.
(1779.)
Come, all ye valiant seamen that plough the raging main,
And listen to my ditty, ye jovial sons of fame;
It is of the bloody battle between us and Monsieur,
And if you’ll give attention the truth of it you’ll hear.
On the ninth day of July, at St. Hellens where we lay,
Our admiral hove a signal out for all the fleet to weigh.
Down Channel we all sail’d, till a Dutchman we did meet,
Who gave us the intelligence of seeing the French fleet.
The twenty-third of July was the day we hove in sight
Of the Duc de Chartres and forty sail so bright.
Our admirals hove the signal out for all the fleet to chase,
But the French prov’d cowards and run, to their disgrace.
We continued chasing them till the twenty-seventh day,
Then about the hour of ten at noon our colours we did display.
The _Shrewsbury_, Captain Lockhart, was the first that did engage,
Which made our noble admirals hoist their bloody flags with rage.
The _Egmont_, Captain Allen, that ship of mighty fame,
She’s worthy to be called the Dread of France by name,
For boldly she bore down, and twenty-eight ships engag’d,
While our officers and men, boys, did show them British play.
The brave Duc de Chartres came rolling in his pride,
Thinking to send the _Egmont_ down with one of his broadsides;
But he was mistaken, as plainly doth appear,
For we gave him such a drubbing as put their hearts in fear,
To speak of the _Formidable_ and give that ship her due,
She stood in our behalf, boys, like Englishmen so true,
The French admiral lying at our stem, thinking us for to take,
But [she] gave him a broadside, which [made his heart to ache].
And at the very same time we gave them three more louder.
Bold Allen cries, ‘Luff, my boys, and let us smell their powder,’
Our ship was so disabled that she would hardly steer,
Which obliged us for to heave her to, our damage to repair.
The French they form’d a line again, with a pretence to fight,
But on purpose to deceive us and steal away by night.
[Two lines missing.]
Our ship she was very foul, likewise at Lisbon grounded,
With fourteen brave fellows kill’d, and twenty-four was wounded,
Which made us cry out, ‘Revenge,’ and made our hearts to grieve
To think we could not see them, but they should us deceive.
So, to conclude and end my song, I do you kindly greet
To drink to our brave admirals and captains in the fleet,
Likewise to Captain Allen and his officers so bold,
And to his ship’s company; they’re valiant hearts of gold.
_A NEW SONG IN PRAISE OF ADMIRAL KEPPEL’S FLEET._
Come, all young seamen, wherever you be,
That sails with Admiral Keppel to sea,
For we are the boys that are loyal and true,
That fights for King George and our country too.
_So, boys, fill your bumpers all round;
Success to the fleet that’s outward-bound,
For we are the boys that wears true blue
And belong to Admiral Keppel’s crew._
But when he hoists the British flag,
Not France or Spain has room to brag;
He will fight the French and Spaniards too,
And make Monsieur to cry, ‘Morbleu!’
_So, boys, etc._
Had Keppel but orders for to fight
The French wou’d not have run away at night;
No orders he had for to give them their due,
Which vex’d the admiral and his brave crew.
_So, boys, etc._
I wish their heads on Temple Bar,
Who’d hinder bold fighting in time of war,
Or else, like Jack the Painter, to be
Hanged high upon Tyburn tree.
_So, boys, etc._
Now drink a health to George our King,
Not forgetting Charlotte, his royal Queen,
And all brave seamen that sail on the main
True blue for ever will never stain.
_So, boys, etc._
_ADMIRAL KEPPEL TRIUMPHANT._
Ye brave British tars, come, attend to my muse,
Be jovial and hearty, in wine let’s carouse;
For Keppel from the accusation is clear,
That was brought against him by Sir Hugh Palliser.
One morning, last July, at break of the day,
The French was descry’d in battle array:
Brave Keppel, impatient to fight proud Monsieur,
Directed his course and unto them drew near.
The French fleet to windward first gave a broadside.
Augustus, undaunted, their great guns defy’d:
His fleet, being mann’d with compleat British tars,
Appal’d the Monsieur with the thunder of Mars.
Aghast the pale French in dismay bore away;
Our ships, being crippl’d, oblig’d us to stay,
Main-sails, gallant royals, stay-sails to repair,
That we might again re-attack the Monsieur.
This done, our commander the signal did make
For the ships to the lee to come to his wake.
Regardless of order, Sir Hugh Palliser
Refus’d to obey, and kept back in the rear.
This gave the French time to retreat into Brest:
But observe the sequel, which is a meer jest.
As guilt is always [the] companion of fear,
So mind the dark plan of Sir Hugh Palliser.
Assisted by Beelzebub, prince of old Styx,
His infernal sire, the weapon he strikes;
Himself to exculpate, the shaft he lets fly,
Intending a sacrifice Keppel should die.
The plan was laid down, then the charge it was made,
Augustus accused of being afraid
To fight the Monsieurs, and of running away,
And leaving the French fleet triumphant at sea.
But justice and Montague there did preside;
They found out the falsehood, his errors descry’d;
The jury withdrew, for they all saw the cheat,
Acquitted Augustus, because he was great.
This true son of Neptune, couragious and bold,
Will fight for his king, and by him be controul’d;
To minions in power he’ll not be a slave,
The French he’ll chastize with a heart free and brave.
So now, brother sailors, let us reunite
To serve under Keppel, the French for to fight;
His name, like the gold from the furnace, shall shine
In Old England’s annals to time’s latest line.
Then fill up your glasses, and let them not stand;
A health to the hero that doth us command:
May each British heart and voice say, without fear,
‘A fig for the French and Sir Hugh Palliser!’
_KEPPEL FOR EVER!_
Smile, smile, Britannia, smile, on Admiral Keppel smile,
Thy darling son;
With laurels crown his head; go, Fame, his glory spread;
His name monsieurs do dread, from him they run.
Goree, th’ Havannah too, where shot in showers flew,
Keppel so bold,
In the midst of the fray, he to his men did say,
‘We’ll shew them British play and share their gold.’
Tho’ he’s been false-accused, his character abus’d,
Still he’s the thing;
Keppel these forty years has serv’d in the wars,
Fear’d neither wounds nor scars, for George his king.
But Twitcher and his crew (I mean his dupe Sir Hugh),
Wicked their scheme!
To try Keppel did call, thro’ malice, that was all.
Lucifer’s pride must fall, like Admiral Byng.
Bonfires, bells did ring; Keppel was all the ding,
Music did play;
Windows with candles in, all for to honour him;
People aloud did sing, ‘Keppel! huzza!’
May he draw his sword again in defence of George his king
And country’s right.
On board the _Victory_, again his flag does fly.
Monsieurs will feel, by-and-by, if he will fight.
Go, go, thou base Sir Hugh, vice-admiral of the blue,
Prythee be still!
Ah! what a wicked dog, to splice the very log!
Give him, instead of grog, a leaden pill!
_A NEW SONG ON ADMIRAL BARRINGTON._
Come, all you jolly sailors of courage stout and bold,
Come, listen to these lines; the truth I will unfold.
Jack, ensign, and pennant in the morning we let fly,
We engag’d the French fleet the 6th of July.
Our drums they did beat and to quarters we went,
And for to engage the French fleet it was our intent;
Our guns they being loaded with round and grape shot,
We beat three ports into one on board the _Languedoc_.
There was Admiral Barrington, Britannia’s delight,
With courage undaunted he boldly did fight;
His rigging being shatter’d, and likewise his sails,
He still kept cannonading on board the _Prince of Wales_.
We had one floating battery carry’d guns upon three decks
And in the time of action she left her f a legs [_sic_].
We never back’d our topsails French cannon to shun,
But boldly ran the gantlet with Admiral Barrington.
If Royal George of England will give us the grant
For Admiral Barrington to have the command,
We would conquer the French fleet were they ever so strong,
We’d hoist the British colours on board the Count d’Estaing.
There’s Captain Fitzherbert was valiant in the fight,
And in the _Royal Oak_ he took great delight,
In the loading their guns and discharging so free;
It shew’d that they were loyal to King and country.
Come, my brave boys, this engagement is all o’er,
And when that we return, my boys, we’ll dance, sing, and roar;
This song it shall be with the old and the young:
Long life and success unto Admiral Barrington.
Our sweethearts and wives they are not to be forgot;
The balls they now engage with are softer than French shot.
When e’er we do return, my boys, we’ll make these culls to run,
We’ll make them dread the sailors that fought with Barrington.
Our bowls they are full, and we have plenty for to drink,
And that’s the thing which causes me to drop my pen and ink;
Whene’er we meet the French dogs we’ll make their jackets smoak,
Whilst Captain Fitzherbert commands the _Royal Oak_.
_PAUL JONES._
An American frigate, called the _Richard_ by name,
Mounted guns forty-four, out of L’Orient came
For to cruise in the Channel of Old England’s fame,
With a noble commander: Paul Jones was his name.
We had not long cruised before two sails we spied,
A large forty-four and a twenty likewise,
With fifty bright shipping well loaded with store,
And the convoy stood in for the old Yorkshire shore.
At length the proud Pearson came up alongside
With a long speaking trumpet. ‘Whence came you?’ he cried.
Come, answer me quickly--I’ve hailed you before--
Or else a broadside into you I will pour.’
Paul Jones he then smiled and to his men did say,
‘Let every man stand to the best of his play.’
We received the broadside from the proud Englishmen,
But soon our brave Yankees returned it again.
We fought them four glasses, four glasses so hot,
Till 40 bold seamen lay dead on the spot,
And 55 more lay bleeding in gore,
While the thundering large canons of Paul Jones did roar.
Our gunner, being frightened, to Paul Jones he came.
‘Our ship she makes water and is likewise in flame.’
Paul Jones he made answer in the height of his pride,
‘If we can do no better we’ll sink alongside.’
Oh, now, my brave boys, we have taken a prize,
A large forty-four with a twenty likewise,
With twenty fine merchantmen laden with store,
So we’ll alter our course to the American shore.
_CAPTAIN FARMER._
The muse and the hero together are fir’d,
The same noble views have their bosoms inspir’d;
As freedom they love, and for glory contend,
The muse o’er the hero still mourns as a friend;
His name from the jaws of oblivion to save,
The muse shall immortalize Farmer the brave.
His ship was the _Quebec_, fatal, glorious name,
The source to Britannia of sorrow and fame.
We’ve twice to our cost that name ill-omen’d found,
But now we’ve no balsam to heal this fresh wound,
For then tho’ Wolfe’s loss to our joy gave a check,
Whilst we morn’d for the chief we rejoic’d for Quebec.
At daybreak, ere Phœbus had shed his blest light,
Three sail he espy’d, and prepar’d for to fight;
October the 6th, anno seventy-nine,
With a forty-gun ship he in battle did join;
At nine in the morning began the fierce fray,
Which without intermission held most of the day.
Five hours and upwards the action did last;
The shrouds were all torn, and they lost every mast;
Tho’ thicker than hail the dread bullets did fly
Yet still to his men gallant Farmer did cry,
‘Fight away, my brave boys; I will spend my last breath
Ere I’ll yield to the foe: give me conquest or death.’
At length the proud foe was constrain’d to retire;
They steer’d to some distance and slackened their fire.
The victory, Hibernia, had then been thy son’s,
But the sails of the _Quebec_ were fir’d by her guns.
Then all was distraction, confusion, despair:
The vessel took fire and blew up in the air.
Thus fell gallant Farmer, the generous and brave;
The _Rambler_ in vain strove his life for to save.
Her long boat she hoist out for to take up the crew,
But the sea rose too high, and too hard the wind blew.
Seventeen she picked up on the waves that did float;
The barbarous enemy fir’d at the boat.
Ye sons of Hibernia, for valour renown’d,
The praises of Farmer, your hero, resound;
His name bright shall shine. Then a truce to all grief;
Vernon, Warren, Tyrrell shall welcome the chief,
And the brave British Cornwall with pleasure shall crown
An Hibernian whose exit resembled his own.