Part 24

Thus fell the strong _Terrible_, bravely and bold, But sixteen survivors the tale can unfold; The French were the victors, tho’ much to their cost, For many brave French were with Englishmen lost. For thus says old Time, ‘Since Queen Elizabeth, I ne’er saw the fellow of brave Captain Death.’

_A NEW SONG (ON BLAKENEY AND BYNG)._

Come all you brave Britons wherever you be, Fill up your glasses to brave Blakeney; O’er a full flowing bowl our voices shall ring, Huzza for brave Blakeney, and God save the King. _Sing tantarara shoot Byng, etc._

Here’s a health to brave Blakeney, so stout and so bold, Who the fort of St. Philip so bravely did hold; Had he been reinforced by Admiral Byng, He’d not yielded St. Philip unto the French King. _Sing tantarara, etc._

And when that he came unto the British shore, The bells they did ring and the guns they did roar, In a full flowing bowl his valour shall ring, Huzza for brave Blakeney and shoot Mr. Byng. _Sing tantarara, etc._

I had like to have forgot our brave Captain Carr, When Admiral Byng call’d a council of war; He boldly made answer, ‘The King sent all we To defend fort St. Philip, and help brave Blakeney.’ _Sing, etc._

Then he left Admiral B., and away he did steer, In spite of the guns of the great Galissionère, [_sic_] In the fort of St. Philip he landed his men, And sank the brave _Dolphin_ in the harbour then. _Sing, etc._

So God save our admirals who are loyal and right, For their King and country like Blakeney they’ll fight. And those who are treach’rous in a halter let swing, Huzza for brave Blakeney, and God save the King. _Sing, etc._

_THE LETTER OF A CERTAIN ADMIRAL._

Mr. Cleveland, I pray, to their lordships you’ll say We are glad and rejoice above measure: When you have read what is writ you, you’ll laugh till it split you, And so give me joy of my pleasure.

We’d a wind, you must know, as fair as could blow, And therefore in days just eleven, We had sail’d from the shore, full ten leagues or more, And saw nought but the ocean and heaven.

Then seventeen ships came licking their lips. And crying out, ‘Fee, faw and fum’; Bigger each than Saint Paul; guns, the devil and all; And, egad, looking wondrous glum.

But no matter for that, who says pit-a-pat? We tack’d, and we stood to the weather; We tack’d quite about, right and left, brave and stout, And so we were sideways together.

Souls five score and two, maugre all they could do, We took in a tartan alive; Six hundred did sail in the vessel so frail, But our hundred had eat up the five.

But of this by the bye; for now we drew nigh To each other--quite close--nay, ’tis true; Six times two of the line, large, grand, bright and fine; Five frigates! but look’d rather blue.

‘Fair honour,’ quoth I, ‘in thy arms let me die, And my glory burn clear in the socket’; Not an ounce more of powder, or a gun a note louder, So the d[irections] I put in my pocket.

Brave West led the van, I follow’d amain; Such closing, and raking, and work, With foresails and braces all flutt’ring in pieces, ’Twould have melted the heart of a Turk.

But the devil, in spite, to blast our delight, Got aboard the _Intrepid_, his daughter; Made her jump, fly, and jumble, reel, elbow, and tumble, And drove us quite out of the water.

And now, being tea-time, we thought it was the time To talk over what we had done; So we put on the kettle our tempers to settle;-- And presently set the fair sun.

Our council next day, in seemly array, Met, sat, and debated the story: We found that our fleet at last might be beat, And then, you know, where is the glory?

Moreover, ’twas plain, three ships in the van Had their glasses and china all broke; And this gave the balance, in spite of great talents, Against us--a damnable stroke!

Without fear of reproaches, as sound as your roaches, Of glory we’ve sav’d our whole stock; ’Twere pity, indeed, to lose it, or bleed, For a toothless old man and a rock.

_A RUEFUL STORY, ADMIRAL B----G’S GLORY, OR WHO RUN AWAY FIRST._

A New Ballad to the tune of _John, Duke of Marlborough_.

Give ear, ye sons of glory, Of greater deeds I sing Than e’er were recorded in story, All done by great Admiral Byng. _Sing, sing, O rare Admiral Byng._

It was in the very same sea, sir, His father’s fleet did swim: His father fought well, we agree, sir, But his father was nothing like him. _Sing, sing, O great Admiral Byng._

At first he came to Gibraltar, Where he was [for] succours to call; But wisely his orders did alter, And took no succours at all. _Sing, sing, O wise Admiral Byng._

While Portmahon was invaded, And Blakeney defended the fort, In the sea for a while he paraded, And then took a peep at the port. _Sing, sing, O bold Admiral Byng._

At length he descried the foe, sir, Whom he bravely determined to beat, If he cou’d without striking a blow, sir, Or hurting his Majesty’s fleet. _Sing, sing, O brave Admiral Byng._

And when the engagement began, sir, The admiral stuck to his plan; For he fought without firing a gun, sir, Or loosing a single man. _Sing, sing, O rare Admiral Byng._

West gallantly charg’d in the van, sir, Without dismay or fear; But Byng, who would not risk a man, sir, Kept cautiously snug in the rear. _Sing, sing, great Rear-Admiral Byng._

At length the French run away, sir, As Frenchmen are apt to do: But he scorn’d to give them foul play, sir, So _he_ civilly run away too. _Sing, sing, generous Admiral Byng._

For behaving so well in the ocean, At least he deserves well a string; And if he wou’d sue for promotion, I hope they will give him his swing. _Swing, swing, O rare Admiral Byng!_

_ADMIRAL BYNG AND BRAVE WEST._

I said unto brave West, ‘Take the van, take the van,’ I said unto brave West, ‘Take the van.’ I said unto brave West, ‘As you like fighting best, I in the rear will rest, Take the van.’

Brave West did boldly act in the van, in the van, Brave West did boldly act in the van; As he did boldly act, I call’d my own ships back; Else he’d put the French to wrack Near Mahon.

Oh! woe to cursed gold! ohon! ohon! Oh! woe to cursed gold! ohon! Oh! woe to cursed gold; For Minorca I have sold, That gallant place of old, With Mahon!

It’s decreed by the King, I do hear, I do hear, He’s decreed it the nation to please, It’s decreed by the King, I’ll be shot by my marines, For the misdeed I have deen On the seas.

_A NEW SONG WRITTEN ON THE ISLE OF AIX._

Tune of _Every Man keep his own Room_.

I am a sailor bold, and press’d to served the King, I am sent upon an errand some laurels home to bring: I am now on the coast, boys, where they are to be had, But alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad. _Mad, boys, mad. Alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad._

It’s enough to make a dog mad, to see a pudding creep. If he could not get at it, he’d bark and howl and weep; Methinks I see the laurels grow and easy to be had, Alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad. _Mad, boys, mad, etc._

My master has a nosegay, but it is not compleat, Tho’ the royal rose of England is excellently sweet; The laurel and French lilly in plenty may be had: Alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad. _Mad, boys, mad, etc._

The Derbyshire and Cheshire boys by Henry were sent To fetch the Flower-de-Luce home, and chearfully they went; They brought it home to England which made their hearts full glad; But if their hands had been confin’d they all had been stark mad, Alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad. _Mad, boys, mad, etc._

If I without my errand to England do return, Alas! I fear in effigy my body they will burn; The boys will hollow after me, as I do pass along, And evry Grub-street printer will curse me in a song. _Song, boys, song. And every Grub-street printer will curse me in a song._

_BOLD SAWYER._

Come all ye jolly sailors with courage stout and bold, Come enter with bold Sawyer, he’ll cloath you all in gold; Repair on board the old _Nassau_, As fine a ship as e’er you saw, We’ll make the French to stand in awe; _She’s mann’d with British boys_.

Commander Keppel with his good design, Commanded the squadron, five sail of the line, The _Prince Edward_ of forty guns, The _Firedrake_ and _Furnace_ bombs, To take Goree it must be done, _By true British boys_.

The 29th of October from Spithead we set sail, Kind Neptune convey’d us with a sweet and pleasant gale, So steering on the Barbary shore, Distance about twelve leagues or more, The wind at west aloud did roar; _Stand by, ye British boys_.

So, steering on the lee-shore until the break of day, We spy’d a lofty sail on the Barbary shore to lay, In great distress she seem’d to be, Her guns all overboard threw she, Which prov’d the _Lichfield_ for to be, _With all her British boys_.

The wind blowing hard, we could give them no relief, A stretching on the lee shore we touch’d at Teneriff. So watering the ships at Santa Cruz, Taking good wine for our ship’s use, We sold our cloaths good wine to booze, _Like brave British boys_.

Our ship being water’d and plenty of good wine, 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.’