Part 25
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.’
Says the carpenter, ‘I have a chest, a chest of very good tools; I will go to some country fair and there I’ll sell three-legged stools.’
Says the cook, ‘I will go to that fair, and there I will sell all my fat.’ Says Jack Tar, ‘If I should meet you there, damn me, I’ll pay you for that;
‘For don’t you remember the time our topsail stuck close to the tack, And we all stuck fast in the sheet, for want of some of that fat?’
Says the midshipman, ‘I have no trade; I have got my trade for to chuse: I will go to St. James Park gate, and there I’ll set blacking of shoes;
‘And there I will set all the day, at everybody’s call, And every one that comes by, “Do you want my nice shining balls?”’
Says Jack, ‘I will take to the road, for I’d better do that than do worse; And every one that comes by, I’ll cry, “Damn you, deliver your purse.”’
_THE SAILOR’S COMPLAINT._
‘You are welcome to London, dear Jack. What news have you brought us, I pray?’ ‘From Portsmouth I have lately come, And now I am discharg’d from the sea. I have never a copper, brave boy; I’ve wages and prize money due.’ ‘Damme Jack, truly do say, You will be hard set to get it, it’s true.’
‘Dear shipmate, I’ve been here a month, And cannot get mine for the truth; On board a man-of-war I went When I was a frolicsome youth. My king and my country to serve I fought like a sailor so bold. Now that the wars are all over I really cannot get my gold.
‘To a navy officer each day I did go; I’ve been both hungry and dry. My money I then did demand. “You cannot have it,” they cry. My life I have ventur’d for gold, My king and my country to serve. Now the wars are all over Brave sailors may perish and starve.
‘Suppose that the war should break out, Then what will Old England do? Bad usage we plenty receive By not paying us our due. They will cavvil from day to day, “To-morrow you your answer shall have.”’ ‘Damme Jack, I really do say, For I think they are acting the knave.’
‘Then truely I don’t mean to rebel Again[st] my good king and his laws. Did he then know my distress He soon would relieve my just cause; We should be paid with great speed. The taverns we[’d] make them to roar, We[’d] spend it like brave jolly tars; What else should we do on shore?’
_THE SAILOR’S GARLAND; OR, THE TICKET BUYER’S LAMENTATION._
To the Tune of _Chevy Chase_.
God prosper long our noble King, his fleet and sailors all, And grant that they their pay may have, and pride may have a fall.
Where courage stout and noble blood within the heart doth reign, There pity soft for others’ woes doth pant in every vein.
Our gracious King, by pity moved to do his sailors right, To Parliament did recommend their sad and woful plight.
A usurer in Lothbury, a Jew of high renown, Hearing the sailors would be paid strait hasted up to town;
All in his hall the clerks amazed and agents, frighted sore, ‘Adieu,’ cried out, ‘for-ty per cent, Adieu--for evermore.’
The Jew he sighed, ‘Alack, my head and heart it acheth much! But hold,’ says he, ‘I’ve got it now. Pray tell me--won’t they touch?
‘What, pay the Navy all, d’you say? Sure that can never be, For then much greater men must lose their trades as well as we.
‘A Sanhedrim we straight must call upon a thing so new. Go summon all, great Shylock first; he’s trusty and true blue.’
While yet he spake, lo at the gate, the head of all the tribe, Shylock, appear’d, the most expert at counsel or at bribe.
His chatter and his laugh so loud was heard quite to the door; His belly, of enormous size, came strutting in before.
Soon tawny Shadrach plodded in, whose face and wig contend Which in their hue most like shall be to Belzeebub the fiend.
Shadrach from father circumcis’d a wight descended sure, Either from Abraham the Jew or Ismael the Moor.
‘I stopt,’ quoth he, ‘by precedent the pinch-gut halfpenny, Tho’ tars on short allowance starv’d, and better they than we.’
From Tower Hill with hang-dog look came one would move your pity. ‘What, no more tickets, sir?’ said he; ‘’twill ruin our trading city.’
Quoth Shylock with a grin, ‘My friends, when ships to Greenland sail They dexterously throw out a tub to fool the mighty whale.
‘Prompt payment publickly to blame may prove a dangerous scheme; Another project we’ll propose for to direct the stream.
‘Something, be sure, must needs be paid. Let’s give them two months’ certain: The other four you friends shall share--with me behind the curtain.
‘Their wages too we must advance some shillings augmentation: What tho’ it freightage should destroy, that only hurts the nation.
‘As toasted cheese the mouse allures within the trap to venture, Such baits as these will surely make the heedless seamen enter.
‘When once they’re caught we’ll turn ’em o’er for ever and for ay; They’ll then be volunteers for life, and we’ll divide their pay.
‘Whilst cent. per cent. our friends can gain we are sure of being courted, Nor can the sailors well complain, for they will be transported.’
But these their plots we know our liege will all to nothing bring; Then sailors may throw up their caps and cry, ‘God save the King.’
_THE SAYLOR’S COMPLAINT; OR, THE TRUE CHARACTER OF THE PURSER OF A SHIP._
To the Tune of _Iantha_, etc.
Of all the curst plagues that e’er Fate did decree To vex, plague, and punish poor sailors at sea, There’s none to compare with the purser, that evil Who’s worse than a jailer, a bum, or a devil, Sure when he was framed Dame Nature lay dying; Hell then took a purge, hell then took a purge, and Pluto sh--t him flying.
As his name foully stinks, so his butter rank doth smell, Both hateful to sailors, scarce good enough for hell: The nation allows men what’s fitting to eat, But he, curse attend him, gives to us musty meat; With bisket that’s mouldy, hard stinking Suffolk cheese, And pork cut in pounds, and pork cut in pounds, for to eat with our pease.
Because it is cut off the best fatted hogs He thinks it too good for eternal lowsie dogs. Then our urine to purge, that the men may piss clear, Instead of what’s better, his petty-warrant beer Is by him allowed, which makes us complain; Which he ne’er regards, which he ne’er regards, so he gets but the gain.
His oatmeal, or grout, known by the name burgooe, Is fitting for nothing but make a sailor spew: His bruis, no better than common kitchen-grease, The sailors are forced to eat with their pease: Such beef-fat, so nasty, we constantly use, That’s but fit for the mast, that’s but fit for the mast, or the greasing of shoes.
When a sailor’s oblig’d to make use of his store He then must expect to be miserable poor: For consider what price for their goods we do pay; He has treble worth of each man, I dare say. Such dealings as these are not just, I am sure; Yet such hardships as these, yet such hardships as these we do daily endure.
Now, since he’s so friendly, I’d give, as ’tis due, By way of requital, a kind wish, or two: And first, may his brandy run all o’er the deck, And he end his days in a rope with aking neck; Or may he still eat, and be never satisfy’d, Still craving of more, still craving of more, but be never cloy’d.
And may he have nothing to drink all the year, When droughth shall attend him, but petty-warrant beer: May fate ne’er allow him a candle to his cabbin, And be in the dark by Old Nick taken napping, And by him or his agents be bore swiftly away, To plague, vex, and punish, to plague, vex, and punish, for ever and aye.
May Charon be careful and ferry him o’re To Pluto’s grand court on the Stygian shore: May ten thousand furies still on him attend, To plague and torment him unto the world’s end: While each jolly sailor, to make themselves merry, Shall take a full glass, shall take a full glass, to his passage o’er the ferry.
_THE SAILOR’S RESOLUTION TO FIGHT THE SPANIARDS._
_A New Song._
What ship, honest brother sailor? You must stop and let us know. If you’re entered or protected, you must tell before you go. Here’s our warrants to impress you. Ne’er repine, my noble blood; We don’t mean for to oppress you; it’s for your king and country’s good.
For to humble the proud Spaniards British courage must be shown, Or those haughty proud villains will never know what is their own. Their men-of-war we’ll make to rattle; Spain shall tremble at the sight; Haste, brave boys, away to battle; the French nor they could never fight.
British courage should never be daunted at the talk of Spanish war[s]; While that seamen they are want[ed] we’ll freely enter, like jolly tars. For to humble the proud Spaniards we’ll sail along so brave and true, And make the Spaniards to knock under and the French cry out, ‘Morbleu.’
So come along, my jolly sailors, enter along with tars so true; We are the men that fear no dangers, but soon will make the Spaniards rue. Success to all our brave commanders that do plough the raging main, Likewise to our jolly sailors, for to conquer France and Spain.
_JACK TAR._
‘Come, brave, honest Jack Tar, once more will you venture? Press warrants they are out; I would have you to enter. Take some rich Spanish prize, as we’ve done before, O.’ ‘Yes, and be cheated of them all, as we were the last war, O.’
‘No man that sails with me shall e’er be abused; So, Jack, come and enter; you shall be well used. You shall be boatswain’s mate, Jack; so boldly come and enter And not like a dog be haul’d on board of the tender.’
‘Dear captain,’ he said then, ‘don’t talk of your pressing; It’s not long ago since I gave six of them a dressing.’ ‘I know that very well, Jack: the truth I must grant you; You are a brave, hearty fellow, and that makes me want you.
‘Dear captain,’ he said then, ‘if the truth I do tell you, I got so much the last war that it quite fill’d my belly; For your damn’d rogues of officers they use men so cruel That a man-of-war is worse than hell or the devil.