Part 26
‘There is the master a-swearing, the boatswain a-growling, The midshipman a-howling out, “Take that fore-bowling”; If you speak but one word you’re a mutinous rascal, Both your legs laid in irons and try’d by a court-martial.’
Now, boys, we are press’d away from our habitation, And we leave wife and children in grief and vexation; We venture our sweet lives in defence of our nation, And we get nothing for it but toil and vexation.’
_THE JOLLY SAILOR’S TRUE DESCRIPTION OF A MAN-OF-WAR._
When first on board of a man-of-war We go, whether by press or enter, And alongside of our ship we come, We boldly in her venture. Such twigging then at we fresh men. ‘They’re clever fellows,’ some say, While the buffers stand with their rattans, Crying, ‘Keep down out of the gangway.’
Then aft upon the quarter-deck We go, it being common; Our officers examine us, to know Who and who are seamen; There’s some are seamen, some are freemen, Some one thing, some another: Then we down below on the main deck go, Boys, after one another.
Next to old Trinculo we go For an order to get our hammocks, Then aft again and down amain, Not forgetting our stomachs. The steward pens, he takes our names, And tells us to our messes; But nipping there they can’t forbear, For the Devil them possesses.
Then up again upon the deck, So briskly, boys, we bundle; Since we have secur’d our pack, We have no cause to grumble. Then we clap on what we heave upon, Some piping, others singing: There’s hoist away, likewise belay. Thus we make a beginning.
When once our ship has got all in, And nothing now neglected, To think of sea we do begin, Our orders soon expected. Then with a career we get all clear, In readiness for unmooring, Boats alongside with wind and tide To carry the women ashore in.
‘All hands, unmoor,’ the boatswain calls, And he pipes at every hatchway; If you Tom Cockswain’s traverse tip him Take care he don’t catch you; For without a doubt, if he finds you out, You may be sure within you, Over face and eyes, to your surprise He’ll arm you without mercy.
The capstan is already mann’d. Shall we hear the boatswain hollow? Sometimes he is listening at a stand To hear the answers follow. We have not brought to, there’s such ado, While some are calling the swabbers. Now heave away without delay, Boys, hold on the nippers.
The boatswain and his mates are piping, Crying, ‘Men, have a rally,’ And often forward they are piking To have a rout in the galley. ‘What are you about? Away with us out.’ To leave our victuals we abhor it; With cuffs and knocks leave kettles and pots, And the Devil cuff them for it.
‘Heave and in sight, men, heave away,’ From forward the boatswain is calling; ‘Heave a turn or two without delay; Stand by the capstan for pealing.’ Then one and all to the catt do fall; We haul both strong and able, Till presently from forward they cry, ‘Below, stick out the cable.’
We cast our anchors then with speed, And nimbly press the stoppers, Then next to fish it we proceed, Our shank-painter so proper, Which we do pass securely fast, And lap well on a seizing, Our anchors, be sure, can’t be too secure; It stands to sense and reason.
When once our ship she is unmoor’d Our swelling sails so neatly, With fore-tack and main-tack also, Our sheets haul’d aft completely, Then away we sail with a fresh gale, On a voyage or on a station. Like English hearts we’ll play our parts In defence of the English nation.
The best cry we like to hear On board, as I’m a sinner, Is when from the quarter-deck they call To the boatswain to pipe to dinner. Such crowding then among the men: Some grumble, others jangle; You’re nobody there without you swear And boldly stand the wrangle.
There’s green-horn fellows some on board Before ne’er saw salt water; When come to sea, upon my word, The case with them does alter. They better know how to follow the plow, With good fat bacon and cabbage; When sea-sick took like death they look, Ready to bring up guts and garbage.
When stormy winds begin to blow Our ship is in great motion; To carry our victuals safe down below It requires a good notion. We often fall down the hatchway with all, From the top to the bottom sprawling; Such laughing then among the men, And loudly the butcher calling.
There are snotty boys of midshipmen Han’t done yet shitting yellow; As to their age, some hardly ten Strike many a brave fellow, Who dare not prate at any rate, Nor seem in the least to mumble; They’ll frap you still, do what you will; It is but a folly to grumble.
Now to conclude and make an end In a full flowing brimmer; Let every one drink to his friend; The bowl it seems to look thinner. We’ll drink again, like sons of men, And drink bad luck to the purser; He cheats us with ease of our oatmeal and pease: Such rogues there can’t be worser.
_NEW SEA SONG._
Our boatswain calls out for his bold British heroes; Come, listen awhile to what I do sing; Let every man toss off his full bumper And drink a good health unto George our King, And drink a good health to Suke, Moll, and Kitty; With mirth and good liquor we’ll lead merry [lives]; We will not be afraid to kiss, or to venture, On Saturday night, to our sweethearts and wives.
Our ship she is in harbour, brought safe to an anchor; The boats are alongside, they begin for to throng; The girls that are in them, they are crying for husbands; The one sings out ‘Jemmy,’ the other [calls] ‘John,’ Whilst the other bawls out, ‘Where is my dear Harry? [If] I do not see him, may I never thrive!’ Alongside of those girls you may lie, but not marry, On Saturday night, to our sweethearts and wives.
Our ship she is unrigged, all ready for docking; Straightway on board of those hulks we repair, Where we work hard all day, and at night go a-kissing. Jack Tar is safe moor’d in the arms of his dear. Straightway to the town of Venus we will venture Our spirits to freshen, our bodies to thrive; We will not be afraid to kiss, nor yet venture On Saturday night to our sweethearts and wives.
Our ship she is all rigg’d and ready for sea, boys; The girls that’s on board they begin to look blue; The boats are alongside to take them on shore, boys; Says one to the other, ‘Girls, what shall we do?’ Then we put to sea, with a fresh-blowing breeze, boys, And through the foaming white billows do [roar]; We paid off all debts with the flying fore-topsail. Bid adieu to these girls and the rogues on the shore.
Now we are on the seas, like bold hearts of thunder; Now we are on the seas we will rant and roar; We will make all the French and the Spaniards knock under When our two-and-thirties begin for to roar. For to handle their dollars my fingers are itching; If I don’t be at them may I never thrive; We will not be like misers, to hoard by our riches, But we will spend them on shore with our sweethearts and wives.
_THE HUMOURS OF THE ROYAL BILLY._
Come, all ye young fellows, attend to my song; It will make you to smile, tho’ tis not very long. I will tell you the truth, how I first went to sea, And what there befel, if you’ll listen to me: My story will please you, if right understood, And you surely will laugh at poor Robin Hood.
’Twas late from the smoke of the chimney I came On board of a guard-ship, the _Royal Billy_ by name, Where the first thing I heard when I came alongside, ‘Here’s a grasshopper coming,’ a hoarse fellow cry’d. The windows were crowded, I thought, by the rood, They’d have laughed till they cry’d at poor Robin Hood.
I crawl’d up the side till I came to the top, When a fellow came to me, catch’d hold of my frock. He ask’d me to step to his house down below. Much kindness unto me I thought he did show; But soon to my cost all his kindness was prov’d, And I curst all such friendship for poor Robin Hood,
His house on the one side was made of a sack, On the other a blanket near the colour of black. No sooner this place I did enter in Than another sings out, ‘Damme, Jack, dowse the glim!’ They rifled my pockets of all that was good, Then tore off my frock, so left poor Robin Hood.
Then to an old fellow I did straightway repair, To ask him the place where the constables were. Up two pair of stairs with him I stept quick, When he shewed me a man with a whistle and stick. I told him my story, but that was no good, For he told me I ly’d, and left poor Robin Hood.
I sat down on the deck to bemoan for a while, When a woman came to me, and began for to smile. She ask’d me my name, which soon I did tell, Also the disaster that had me befel. The best of ill language at them she did fling, Then ask’d me below, to accept of some gin.
Then with her I consented directly to go, And straightway together we went down below, Where she call’d for a bottle of old English gin. I blest my good stars with such friend to fall in: But, to my vexation, I soon understood There was no one to pay it but poor Robin Hood.
My shirt they stript off, the gin for to pay; My hat and my shoes both went the same way. I bawled out, ‘Murder!’ But that was their fun. I up a long ladder was forced to run To the officers then, in a terrible mood, Who all bursted with laughter at poor Robin Hood.
They sent for a man who’d the look of a prig, And he took me away for the purser to rig. A huge pair of breeches he gave me, ’tis true, That reach’d from the top of my rump to my shoe. A coat he next gave me, too short by a rood; ’Twould not cover the backside of poor Robin Hood.
The next thing I met was a man with a stick, Who bawl’d out, ‘All hands!’ and then gave me a lick. ‘You lubberly rascal! ’Tis what brought you here! Scud quick, or I’ll make you, and hoist up the beer.’ I gave him a look, which he well understood, For he bang’d me till tired, and so left Robin Hood.
No sooner had we done hoisting of beer, To a place call’d the galley I did straightway repair. Such a racket and uproar, and hell of a rout, Scaldings here, scaldings there. I was glad to creep out. You could not have thought they behaved so rude, For they scalded the shins of poor Robin Hood.
I next down below to my dinner was brought, To eat peas with my messmates like pigs in a trough; But as for the pork, I thought not amiss While one turn’d his back, crying, ‘Who shall have this?’ I thought it was fair, but I soon understood The smallest of all fell to poor Robin Hood.
Then a man came unto me with a stick in his hand; The boatswain he was call’d, if I right understand. A bucket of grease in my fist he gave fast; He told me to jump up and grease down the mast. I scamper’d away then as fast as I could, But he brought me up standing, ah! poor Robin Hood!
Two ruffians he ordered to strap me amain. I wish’d myself back with my Jenny again. My blood it did boil; I was forc’d to obey: But I show’d them a specimen of West Country play. Down the hatchway I bundled one rascal so lewd, But they seiz’d me behind, ah! poor Robin Hood!
When peace is concluded--’twill soon be the news-- I shall see these rapscallions a-blacking of shoes. With my cudgel of oak I will learn them to skip, And make them remember on board the guard-ship. My song it is ended. If right understood, ’Twas from Sussex I came, and my name’s Robin Hood.
_THE DOLPHIN’S RETURN._
(1768).
Tune, _The Lilies of France_.
Ye bold British tars, who to glory are free, Who dare venture your lives for your fortunes at sea, Yourself for a while of your pleasures disrobe, And attend to a tale of a voyage round the globe, For the _Dolphin’s_ return’d, and such tidings does bring As may welcome us home to our country and king.
The twenty’th of August, the year sixty-six, By command of our captain the signal we fix; In the Sound of old Plymouth our ship we unmoor’d With our consort the _Swallow_, and transport well stor’d; But now we’re return’d, and such tidings we bring [As may welcome us home to our country and king].
The wind being far the next day we set sail, Blest at once with a fresh and prosperous gale; And straightway our course for Madeira we steer’d. No danger we saw, and no hardship we fear’d; For we sail’d round the world such tidings to bring As might welcome us home to our country and king.
We touch’d at Madeira, St. Jago likewise, For the sake of fresh water and other supplies; But at neither of these could we make any stay, For the course of our voyage would admit no delay. We were bound round the world such tidings to bring As might welcome us home to our country and king.
When Magellan’s Straits we first enter’d we found Such giants of men that in all the world round None with them could compare or for size or for height, For the smallest of these were from six feet to eight. Yet these are but trifles of tidings to bring; We’ve a present more worthy our country and king.
In Port Famine we anchor’d, and took in our store Of both water and wood, for it yielded no more. Discharging our store ship, our anchors we weigh’d, And we work’d through the Straits; no time we delay’d; But now are return’d, and such tidings we bring As may welcome us home to our country and king.
A tedious long passage it was for to go, With our consort so dull that we took her in tow, But on April the 12th we got clear of the Straits; Tho’ the _Swallow_, we fear, a [much] longer time waits, Yet we are return’d, and such tidings we bring As may welcome us home to our country and king.
Then we plow’d the South Ocean, such [land] to discover As amongst other nations has made such a pother. We found it, my boys, and with joy be it told, For beauty such islands you ne’er did behold. We’ve the pleasure ourselves the tidings to bring As may welcome us home to our country and king.
For wood, water, fruit, and provision well stor’d Such an isle as King George’s the world can’t afford, For to each of these islands great Wallis gave name, Which will e’er be recorded in annals of fame. We’d the fortune to find them, and homeward to bring The tidings a tribute to country and king.
_THE BRAGS OF WASHINGTON._
Come, all you brave seamen and landsmen likewise, That have got an inclination your fortunes to rise, That have got an inclination to fight the proud Bostonians, And soon we’ll let you know that we are the sons of Britain. Fal lal, etc.
As for the brags of Washington, that never can be; There is Carlton and Clinton have shewn their bravery; There is Darby and Rodney, commanders of the ocean, And many a brave fellow is waiting for promotion.
And if we meet a privateer, or a lofty man of war, We never stand to wrangle, to jangle, or to jar; We give them a broadside, and say, ‘My lads, take care, O, And keep your proper distance from an English man-of-war, O.’
And if they will not fight us, but from us run away, All with our heavy chain-shot we’ll cut their masts away, And if they will not yield to us, nor unto us surrender, We’ll split their ship in pieces and to the bottom send her.
As for the brags of Washington, we care not a pin; 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._