Out of Boston, we’ve been told,
Came to take the British frigate
Neat and handy, O!
All the people of the port
They came out to see the sport,
And the bands were playing
‘Yankee doodle dandy, O!’
The British frigate’s name,
Which for the purpose came
Of cooling Yankee courage
Neat and handy, O!
Was the _Shannon_--Captain Broke.
All her crew were hearts of oak,
And at fighting they’re allowed to be
The dandy, O!
Now before the fight begun,
The Yankees with much fun,
Said they’d take the British frigate
Neat and handy, O!
And after that they’d dine,
Treat their sweethearts all with wine,
And the band should play up
‘Yankee doodle dandy, O!’
We no sooner had begun
Than from their guns they run,
Though before they thought they worked ’em
Neat and handy, O!
Brave Broke he waved his sword,
Crying, ‘Now, my lads, we’ll board,
And we’ll stop their playing
“Yankee doodle dandy, O!”’
We no sooner heard the word
Than we all jumped aboard
And tore down the colours
Neat and handy, O!
Notwithstanding all their brag
O’er the glorious British flag,
At the Yankee mizen-peak
It looked the dandy, O!
Here’s a health to Captain Broke,
And all the hearts of oak,
That took the Yankee frigate
Neat and handy, O!
And may we always prove
That in fighting and in love,
The true British sailor
Is the dandy, O!
_BATTLE OF THE SHANNON AND CHESAPEAKE._
On board the _Shannon_ frigate in the merry month of May,
To watch the bold Americans off Boston lights we lay.
The _Chesapeake_ lay in harbour, a frigate stout and fine,
Four hundred and forty men she had, her guns were forty-nine.
’Twas Captain Broke commanded us, a challenge he did write
To the captain of the _Chesapeake_ to bring her out to fight.
Our captain says, ‘Brave Lawrence, ’tis not from enmity,
But ’tis to prove to all the world that we rule on the sea.
‘Don’t think, my noble captain, because you have had success
That British tars are humbled, not even in distress.
No! we will fight like heroes our glory to maintain,
In defiance of superior size and the number of your men.’
The challenge was accepted, the Americans came down,
A finer frigate ne’er belonged unto the British crown.
They brought her into action on the true British plan,
Nor fired a shot till within hail--then they the fight began.
Broadside for broadside then did yield a most tremendous roar,
Like thunder it resounded, re-echoed from each shore.
This dreadful firing lasted near a quarter of an hour;
Then the enemy’s ship drove right aboard, their yards were locked
in ours.
Our captain went to their ship’s side to see how she did lie,
When he beheld the enemy’s men who from their guns did fly.
‘All hands for boarding!’ now he cry’d; ‘the victory is sure.
Come bear a hand, my gallant boys, our prize we’ll soon secure.’
Like lions then we rush’d on board, we fought them hand to hand,
And tho’ they overnumbered us they could not us withstand.
They fought in desperation, disorder, and dismay,
And in about three minutes’ time were forced to give way.
Their captain and lieutenant with seventy of the crew
Were killed in this sharp action, and an hundred wounded too.
The ship was taken to Halifax and the captain buried there,
And the remainder of his crew as his chief mourners were.
Have courage then, all British tars, and never be dismay’d,
But put the can of grog about and drink success to trade,
Likewise to gallant Captain Broke and all his valiant crew,
Who beat the bold Americans and brought their courage to.
_A NEW SONG, CALLED THE ENDYMION’S TRIUMPH._
Come, all you valiant British tars, attend unto my theme.
In eighteen hundred and fifteen this fact I will proclaim:
As we were cruising off New York, the night it being clear,
Bold _Mars_ to us a message sent an enemy was near.
On January fifteen, just by the dawn of day,
We ’spied a Yankee frigate that just had put to sea.
To her our squadron soon gave chace, but all soon dropt behind,
Except the bold _Endymion_, who flew before the wind.
It was a handsome chace, my boys, as ever yet was seen,
Each man stood to his quarters, for victory was keen;
When, about the hour of four o’clock, long tom began to tell,
With her we soon came up, brave boys, our ship could sail so well.
Their Commodore Decatur all hands on deck did call,
Saying, ‘Be of good courage, their vessel’s very small;
Besides, we have two men to one--so, boys, be not asleep,
For in less than ten minutes we’ll sink her in the deep.’
But soon he found his great mistake--at five o’clock at night
We gave to them three daring cheers, and began the bloody fight.
This was their boasted frigate, in her they did confide,
But soon the bold _Endymion_ pull’d down their Yankee pride.
Two hours and forty minutes, with courage void of fear,
This bloody fight we did maintain and swept her decks so clear.
When she haul’d down her colours our valiant captain cries,
‘Well done, well done, my brave boys, the _President’s_ our prize!’
We had twenty kill’d and wounded--thank God we had no more--
Whilst one hundred of those Yankees lay weltering in their gore,
And more than twenty wounded, most grevious was their cries,
Their bitter moans and dying groans did rend the very skies.
The _President_ she was well manned, five hundred was her crew;
Three hundred and forty the _Endymion_ were, ’tis true;
Yet, nurs’d in the lap of victory, those Yankees did despise,
For we were all bold British tars and stout courageous boys.
A curious observation, twelve months that day were spent
Since this proud Yankee commodore a challenge to us sent.
We joyfully accepted it, British honour to [de]fend,
But our commodore would not permit, nor yet the same commend.
Full sore it grieved bold Captain Hope that contest to decline,
But now he may exult and say, ‘Decatur, you are mine;
I long’d to meet you on this coast and sought you with much toil,
And since I have you snug on board, I’ll shew you British soil.’
This action we’ll record in the annals of British fame,
Her sixty-three to forty-eight it was unequal game.
Since we left Plymouth Harbour in eighteen hundred and thirteen,
All along the Yankee coast we have thirty prizes ta’en.
Bold Captain Hope commanded us, his praises we’ll proclaim,
To him the greatest honour’s due, he merits British fame.
‘Be silent, men!’ was all his cry. ‘Bring all your guns to bear,
And do not fire one shot in vain; both round and grape prepare.’
It would take the quill of Homer or Virgil to indite
The valour of our officers display’d upon that night:
Our undaunted first lieutenant, bold Morgan of renown,
Mr. Garson, Mr. Ormon, bold Fanshaw and Yeaman.
But on the seventeenth, brave boys, at twelve o’clock at night
We lost our fore and main mast, to us a doleful sight;
To see us in this dreadful gale an adamant heart would weep,
Our quarter-deck and forecastle guns we plunged in the deep.
But soon we rigged our jurymast when that the gale was o’er,
The weather it came fine and clear, the billows ceas’d to roar;
But soon another gale arose, which lasted three whole days,
In the Gulph Stream we were toss’d about, tremendous were the seas.
Our prize she was dismasted and much injury sustain’d;
Thank God she’s now arrived safe, the anchorage she’s gain’d.
Thus kind Heaven protected us, all dangers we surviv’d,
For now in sweet Bermuda our ship and she’s arriv’d.
Now let Commodore Decatur and all his Yankee crew
Write home to cowardly Madison what British tars can do,
Whilst our trophies we’ll bring home unto the British shore,
And cans of grog we’ll pledge, my boys, now tempests cease to roar.
So fill to me a flowing bowl and let the toast go round:
God prosper long bold Captain Hope, with laurels he is crown’d;
Success to our bold officers and all our valiant crew,
And may all British seamen their victories pursue.
_THE BRITISH TARS._
Come all you thoughtless young men, a warning take by me,
And never leave your happy homes to sail the raging sea,
For I have ploughed the raging main this twenty years or more,
But now I’m turned adrift to starve upon my native shore.
When war at first assail’d us I quickly left my trade,
Our country was in danger, I flew to lend my aid.
And in my country’s service, long, long fatigues I bore,
But now I’m turned adrift to starve upon my native shore.
By storms and raging tempest shipwreck’d three times I’ve been,
And many a bloody battle upon the seas I’ve seen;
I’ve seen the cannon’s glaring flash, I’ve heard its murderous roar,
Tho’ now I’m turned adrift to starve upon my native shore.
The British seaman’s valour to all the world is known,
We conquer still where’er we go, the action is our own.
The meteor flag of England triumphantly we bore;
But now we are turned adrift to starve upon our native shore.
Should hostile fleets e’er venture upon the raging main,
True hearts of oak we British Tars we’ll push to sea again;
And bravely bring their ships to port as we have done before.
So help us now while we’re in want upon our native shore.
Come pity, ye gentle strangers, a luckless British Tar,
In your defence he yet may hurl the thunderbolts of war.
Come lend some kind assistance, and heaven will bless your store,
For now I’m turned adrift to starve upon my native shore.
_THE FANCY FRIGATE._
It is of a fine Frigate, dare not mention her name;
And in the West Indies she bore great fame,
For cruel hard usage in every degree,
Like slaves in a galley we plough the salt sea.
At four in the morning the game is begun,
To the cock-pit the waisters for buckets must run;
For fore and main topmen so loud they do bawl,
For sand and for stones both large and small.
O Master Make-clever, you know very well,
He comes upon deck and cuts a great swell;
It’s ‘bear a hand here, boys,’ and ‘bear a hand there,’
And in the lee gangway he takes a broad sheer.
Half a dozen he starts, and so he goes on;
You’re sure of a hiding, boys, every one;
For soldier or sailor he cares not a damn,
But he’ll hide you as long as you’re able to stand.
Our decks being wash’d and our sheets being home,
Stand by your hammocks, boys, every one;
Seven turns with your lashings so equal must show,
And all of a size, boys, and through the hoop go.
Our hammocks being stowed, and our breakfast done,
We’re ranked in divisions with our white hats all on;
With our speeguls and lashings so black they must shine,
With our white frocks and trousers we must all be a line.
Our division officer then takes his round,
Not a hole nor a spot on your clothes must be found;
For an hour or more in this form we must be,
Our ropes they are flemished either in harbour or at sea.
Our divisions being over, the next thing comes on,
Jack o’ Clubs he is calling for swabs in his song;
Three or four dry swabs each cook they must find,
And the bright iron hoops on our mess-kids must shine.
There is pulling and hauling all the four hours round,
On deck or below there’s no peace to be found;
Either paint room, or store room, you’re sure for to clear,
To find out what blacking or paint is to spare.
Pass the word for the painters, fore and aft is the cry,
Neither booms nor gangway I would have you draw nigh,
Nor yet in the ports I would have you be found,
For six dozen or more to your name will go round.
Our boarding pikes and cutlasses are bright as the sun,
Our shot racks are copper, boys, every one;
Our pumelins and hand spikes and belaying pins also,
With our bright iron staunchions we cut a fine show.
Neither combings or hatchway I’d have you go near,
From the bell or cook’s funnel I’d have you keep clear;
Nor yet in the galley I’d have you to go,
For a black thunder squall will take you in tow.
Now, my brave boys, comes the best of the fun,
All hands to make sail, going large is the song;
From under two reefs in our topsails we lie,
Like a cloud in the air in an instant must fly.
There’s topsails, top-gallant sails, staysails also,
There’s stunsails on both sides aloft and below,
There’s royals, and skysails, stargazers so high,
By the sound of one pipe everything it must fly.
Now, my brave boys, comes the best of the fun,
It’s hands about ship and reef topsails in one;
Our hands go aloft when the helm it goes down,
Lower away topsails when the mainyard goes round.
Trice up and lie out, and take two reefs in one,
In a moment of time all this work must be done;
Man your head braces, your haulyards, and all,
And hoist away topsails when it’s let go and haul.
As for the use of tobacco, all thoughts leave behind;
If you spit upon deck then your death warrant’s signed
If you spit overboard either gangway or stern,
You are sure of six dozen by the way of no harm.
But worse than all this, I have known them to stop
A week’s wine or grog if you spill but one drop;
Either forward or aft I would have you keep clear,
Or the bell, or cook’s funnel, will fall to your share.
Come, all brother seamen, wherever you be,
From all fancy frigates I’d have you keep clear;
Take compassion all on us, and never forget,
Those poor pipe-clay rangers so called of late.
_THE SAUCY SCYLLA._
Come all you who delight in a frolicksome song,
Concerning the _Scylla_ it will not keep you long;
Concerning the _Scylla_, a ship of great fame,
She had the Bahama station, and bore a great name.
At four in the morning the work it came on,
For sand and for holy stones loud was the song;
For fore and main topmen loud was the call,
For sand and for holy stones both great and small.
The next thing to divisions your hammocks you bring,
You must have them as snug and as round as a ring;
With your lanyards and lacings, all made up so neat,
Or to carry them all day on our shoulders was our fate.
There is someone we know well, a British old Turk,
Would go creeping and snarling as the men were at work;
‘Hurrah! bear a hand, men, or you I’ll report:’
Then he’d walk you on the carpet like a prisoner at court.
Two bells in the evening--’twas the drummer once more--
Beat all hands to quarters with your bayonets and swords.
‘Cast loose, clear for action,’ our lieutenant cries,
With the rest of good drilling and much exercise.
After quarters was over, there was one thing more,
All hands to reef top sails, which grieved us full sore;
‘Men, man the rigging,’ our lieutenant would cry,
Rise up, and lay out your reef points to tie.
In less than two minutes our top sails must be reef’d,
All sail set above them so snug and complete;
For black-listing and drilling grieved us to the heart,
For our six-watered grog it just measured one quart.
As we lay in Providence so neat and so clean,
With scraping and painting we did take great pains;
With scraping and scouring from morning ’till night,
It was swabbing, dum-scraping that was their delight.
We ranged them Bahamas by night and by day,
Every creek and every island like a lion for his prey;
In search of those slave ships it was our intent,
’Till at last came to Nassaw, where our relief was sent.
Very soon for Port Royal we then did make sail,
Favoured by Neptune and a sweet, pleasant gale;
When we arrived there, what grieved us full sore,
We were ordered on the Spanish main for two months or more.
But now we are arrived in England once more,
How our spirits did rise, glad to see our own shore;
Our friends and relations they came in our sight,
For fear of them entering, their look-out was bright.
But now my song is ended, I have no more to say,
But our saucy little _Scylla_ she carried the sway;
For in reefing and furling she was always the best,
Throughout the West Indies, for we had scarce any rest.
_THE VANGUARD._
Come, all you seamen, stout and bold, and listen to my song,
It’s worth your whole attention, I’ll not detain you long.
CHORUS.
_Then let us sing the Vanguard’s praise, proclaim her valiant
name,
Cruel usage I have met with since I sail’d in the same._
Concerning of the _Vanguard_, a ship of noble fame,
With her r---- commander, Mickey Walker call’d by name.
At four o’clock you must turn out, the decks to holystone;
One and all you must go down upon your marrow bones.
Then Mr. Croycraft comes on deck, and he’ll begin to curse and swear;
Both watches of gunners send up on deck to see your lashings are
all square.
At eight o’clock it’s up top-gallant yards, to the mast-head you
must run,
And if you are not the first ship, your name is taken down.
Then down from the mast-head to the gangway you must repair,
And there is the gratings rigged ready to punish you there.
And when on shore by leave you go, if beyond your time you stay,
Then you are put on the stage party for the space of sixty days.
Then next you’re put in chokey, boys, you get both thin and white;
And if you break your liberty, scrub copper from morning till night.
But if you are in the black list, as true as I’m a sinner,
Then you must polish brass-work while the crew are at their dinner.
But if a fighting you do go, you’ll never get any rest;
They will drive you off the lower deck, in the galley for to mess.
And when you are in the galley mess, your heart is fill’d with woe;
Your monthly money it is stopt, on shore you must not go.
Now, you seamen of the _Vanguard_, you had better not get drunk;
You will be laid upon your back, and they’ll use the stomach pump.
If your hammock it is dirty, and you know no reason why,
Then you must scrub it in the head, carry it on a boat-hook to dry.
There’s a man on our lower deck, he is called Jondy Cross;
If I had my will of him, I’d overboard him toss.
But when on shore the bully comes, if with him you should fall in,
The w----e that gives to him a drubbing shall have a gown and a
gallon of gin.
So now to conclude, and finish my song;
I am a saucy mizen-top man, to the _Vanguard_ does belong.
But if to sea I go again, I’d sooner swing in a halter,
Before I’d sail in any ship commanded by Mickey Walker.
_THE PORT ADMIRAL._
’Twas at the landing place that’s just below Mount Wyse,
Poll leaned against the sentry’s box, a tear in both her eyes:
Her apron twisted round her arms, all for to keep them warm,
Being a windy Christmas Day, and also a snow-storm.
And Bet and Sue
Both stood there too,
A-shivering by her side;
They both were dumb,
And both look’d glum
As they watched the ebbing tide.
Poll put her arms a-kimbo:
At the admiral’s house look’d she;
To thoughts before in limbo,
She now a vent gave free.
You have sent the ship in a gale to work,
On a lee-shore to be jammed;
I’ll give you a piece of my mind, old Turk:
Port Admiral, you be damned.
CHORUS.
_We’ll give you a piece of our mind, old Turk:
Port Admiral, you be damned._
Whoever heard in the sarvice of a frigate made to sail
On Christmas Day, it blowing hard, with sleet, and snow, and hail?
I wish I had the fishing of your back that is so bent,
I’d use the galley poker hot, unto your heart’s content.
Here Bet and Sue
Are with me too,
A-shivering by my side;
They both are dumb,
And both look glum,
And watch the ebbing tide.
Poll put her arms a-kimbo:
At the admiral’s house looked she;
To thoughts that were in limbo,
She now a vent gave free.
You’ve got a roaring fire, I’ll bet:
In it your toes are jammed;
Let’s give him a piece of our mind, my Bet:
Port Admiral, you be damned!
CHORUS.
_Let’s give him a piece of our mind, my Bet:
Port Admiral, you be damned._
I had the flour, and plums all picked, and suet all chopped fine,
To mix into a pudding rich, for all the mess to dine:
I pawn’d my ear-rings for the beef, it weighed at least a stone:
Now my fancy man is sent to sea, and I am left alone.
Here’s Bet and Sue
Who stand here too,
A-shivering by my side;
They both are dumb,
They both look glum,
And watch the ebbing tide.
Poll put her arms a-kimbo:
At the admiral’s house look’d she;
To thoughts that were in limbo,
She now a vent gave free:
You’ve got a turkey, I’ll be bound,
With which you will be crammed;
I’ll give you a bit of my mind, old hound:
Port Admiral, you be damned.
CHORUS.
_We’ll give you a bit of our mind, old hound:
Port Admiral, you be damned._
I’m sure that in this weather they cannot cook their meat:
To eat it raw on Christmas Day will be a pleasant treat;
But let us all go home, girls; it’s no use waiting here:
We’ll hope that Christmas Day to come they’ll have a better cheer.
So Bet and Sue,
Don’t stand here too,
A-shivering by my side;
Don’t keep so dumb,
Don’t look so glum,
Nor watch the ebbing tide.
Poll put her arms a-kimbo:
At the admiral’s house look’d she;
To thoughts that were in limbo,
She now a vent gave free.
So while they cut their raw salt junks,
With dainties you’ll be cramm’d;
Here’s once for all my mind, old hunks:
Port Admiral, you be damned.
CHORUS.
_So once for all our mind, old hunks:
Port Admiral, you be damned._
_OH! CRUEL._
Oh! cruel were my parents to tear my love from me,
And cruel were the press-gang that took him off to sea,
And cruel was the little boat that row’d him from the strand,
And cruel was the great big ship that sailed from the land.
_Sing too rol lo, etc._
Oh! cruel was the water that bore her love from Mary,
And cruel was the fair wind that would not blow contrary;
And cruel was the captain, the boatswain and the men,
Who didn’t care a farthing if we ever met again.
Oh! cruel was the splinter to break my deary’s leg,
Now he’s obliged to fiddle, and I’m obliged to beg:
A vagabonding vagrant, and a rantipoling wife,
We fiddle, limp, and scrape it, thro’ the ups and downs of life.
Oh! cruel was th’ engagement in which my true love fought,
And cruel was the cannon-ball that knock’d his right eye out;
He us’d to leer and ogle me with peepers full of fun,
But now he looks askew at me, because he has but one.
My love he plays the fiddle, and wanders up and down,
And I sing at his elbow thro’ all the streets in town.
We spend our days in harmony, and very seldom fight,
Except when he’s his grog aboard, and I get queer at night.
Then ladies all take warning by my true love and me,
Tho’ cruel fate should cross you, remember constancy;
Like me you’ll be rewarded, and have your heart’s delight,
With fiddling in the morning, and a drop of gin at night.
_THE ANSWER TO OH! CRUEL._
Oh! cruel was thy parents that envied our love,
And cruel was the press-gang that gave me such a shove,
That took me head and heels and put me in a sack,
And to the water side one took me on his back.
_Singing too rol loo rol, etc._
I thought I was to die, so I began to pray,
‘Why hang your lazy hide,’ one unto me did say,
‘If you don’t hold your clack I’ll throw you overboard.’
I thought to my dear Poll I shall never be restor’d.
They soon a sailor made me with their cuffs and whip,
I never lik’d their notions, I so often had to strip.
The enemy appear’d. Oh! dreadful was the sight,
The tarry lads so cheerfully preparing for the fight.
The captain loudly bawling every man to his gun,
I tried to skulk away, thinking I had none;
But I very soon found out my skulking would not do,
For an officer with sword in hand would quickly run me through.
I waddled to the deck, but I rolled like an egg,
When there came a whacking cannon-ball and took away my leg.
I tumbled on my back and vented forth a sigh,
When a bullet in a twinkling knock’d out my poor right eye.
So from the cruel wars I am safe at home again,
And by my fiddling a livelyhood obtain,
And now you have proved true how happy shall we be--
We’ll pass the days and nights in love and harmony.
Tho’ cruel was my fortune I haven’t lost the way
Of getting grog at night by fiddling all the day;
And tho’ I am depriv’d by a cruel cannon-ball,
She’d rather have me as I am then ne’er a man at all.
_THE FEMALE LIEUTENANT; OR, FAITHLESS LOVER REWARDED._
William was a youthful lover,
William lov’d a lady fair;
Bells did ring and birds did sing,
As to the church they did repair.
Then came twenty brisk young sailors,
Drest in grand and rich array;
Instead of William being married,
Prest he was and sent away.
Soon his true love follow’d after,
By the name of William Carr;
Her soft hands and milk-white fingers,
All were smear’d with pitch and tar.
Now behold the first engagement,
Bold she fought among the rest;
Her jacket open, void of danger,
All expos’d her snow-white breast.
When the captain came to hear it,
He said, ‘What wind has brought you here?’
‘Kind sir, I came to find my true love,
Him you prest I love so dear.’
‘If that you came to find your true love,
Tell to me his name, I pray?’
‘Brave sir, they call him William Taylor,
Him you prest and forc’d away.’
‘If William Taylor is your true love
He is both cruel and severe,
For rise up early in the morning
You shall see him and his lady fair.
‘For he some days ago was wedded
And lives upon the Isle of Man,
And with his beauteous bride has bedded
A truth that none deny it can.’
Then she rose early in the morning,
Early by the break of day,
There she saw sweet William Taylor
Walking with his lady gay.