Part 29
But soon, to our grief, as you shall understand, They refused to comply with our humble demand; Although to the Army they granted more pay, While we sons of Neptune neglected did lay. But the 15th of April soon roused them straightway.
Then each son of Neptune took their oath without dread, Until redress was obtained not to sail from Spithead; Two tars from each ship of the line did appear On board the _Queen Charlotte_ without dread or fear, While the ships manned their yards with a thundering loud cheer.
Billy Pitt and Dundas soon heard of the news. They fell in a rage, and the tars did abuse; They sent for Lord Spencer and unto him did say: ‘For Portsmouth, my Lord, and make no delay, For the mutinous tars refuse to obey.’
Lord Spencer unto us these words did express: ‘Your grievance, my lads, shall soon be redress; Full provisions we have granted and a shilling a day.’ We trusted their honour, and our anchors did weigh, But the wind coming west, at St. Helens we did lay.
Now Providence, resolved we should not be oppressed, For a fortnight or more kept the wind at south-west; During which time, to our great surprize, The Act was not passed to grant us supplies, But Bedford and Clarence did open our eyes.
When we found from their promise they meant for to run, We resolved to force them before we had done. When the signal was made for sea to repair, We then did refuse with another loud cheer, Which made our proud rulers to quake and to fear.
The murdering Colpoys, Vice-Admiral of the blue, Gave order to fire on the _London_ ship’s crew; While the enemy of Britain was ploughing the sea, He, like a base coward, let them get away When the French and their transports sailed for Bantry Bay.
But at length from our king Lord Howe he was sent To redress our grievance to our full content; We received the old hero with joy as our friend, And the Act being passed we will cheerfully sing ‘Confusion to France and long live our King!’
Now, my brave boys, down Channel we steer ’Long with brave Bridport in search of Mounseer. May Heaven but grant what we crave for a boon, That these boasting invaders may out to us come, And the tune that we will play them is the ‘First of June.’
So now I must finish these lines that I have penned. I hope no true Briton at them may be offended, But remember the 15th of April, I pray, And our wives and children keep a holiday; For what April began we finish in May.
Drink a health to Lord Howe in a full flowing glass, Confusion to Pitt, likewise to Dundas. The seventeen bright stars in a bumper shall roar, Their praises shall sound from shore unto shore, And they will never be forgot until Britain’s no more.
_THE GENIUS OF BRITAIN._
The Genius of Britain went hovering round, For she fear’d that fair Freedom was fled; But she found to her joy that she was not quite gone, But remain’d with the fleet at Spithead. Rejoic’d at the news, to the _Charlotte_ she flew, Where fair Freedom she heard sat enthron’d: They all man’d the yards as the goddess came [in], For Britain and Freedom they own’d.
The fleet hail’d the goddess with three hearty cheers As she stood on the _Charlotte’s_ gangway, She drop’d a sad tear as she look’d on her sons Who so long neglected had lay; She was led to the cabin. Fair Freedom was there, True Loyalty sat by her side; Britannia sat down in a transport of joy: ‘All hail to my heroes!’ she cry’d.
Every ship in the line sent two seamen so brave, Whom the goddess receiv’d with a smile: They assured her that if they were treated like men They would still guard her favourite isle. ‘Go on, my brave sons, in the steps you now tread, Be virtue your guide and your guard, And God, who rules over the land and the sea, Will your honest endeavours reward.’
The Genius of Ireland came in with her harp, She saluted fair Freedom with tears, They man’d the yards to welcome her o’er, And every ship gave three cheers. Success to the seventeen united bright stars, Let their praise echo round every shore, And the fifteenth of April will ne’er be forgot Till Britannia and Freedom’s no more.
_BRITISH TARS REWARDED._
The tars of Old England have long toil’d in vain, From the time of King Charles down to the present reign; But their royal master their wages doth raise, So join, British sailors, in King George’s praise.
The fleet of Lord Bridport, the terror of France, Petition’d the throne that their pay might advance. Their petitions were granted, each grievance redress’d, In the heart of each seaman great George he is bless’d.
No longer neglected, no longer forlorn, Brave seamen will wander, dejected, our scorn; Their petitions are granted, each grievance made known Soon met with redress at the foot of the throne.
Cheer, cheer, British seamen, your sails now unfurl, Against our proud foes soon defiance we’ll hurl; Our toils are rewarded, advanc’d is our pay. Success to those seamen who gain’d us the day!
Adieu, pretty Nancy of Portsmouth, adieu! When your William is absent, I pray then be true. To fight for our king and our country we go; Our toils are rewarded, we’ll face the proud foe.
Farewell to our children; farewell, dearest wives! We don’t leave you distress’d, tho’ we venture our lives: Our pay is advanced, which you shall receive; Then dry up each tear, girls, and cease for to grieve.
Then, my boys, hoist your sails, to Old England adieu, No longer oppressed, to you we’ll prove true: You shall find that a tar is both grateful and brave-- We’ll die, but our king and our country we’ll save.
Three cheers, lads! three cheers, lads! we lose sight of land. In defence of our country we’ll join heart and hand; And when we return, boys, we’ll drink, dance and sing With wives and with sweethearts, so God save the King!
_A NEW SONG ON PARKER THE DELEGATE, HEAD OF THE MUTINY AT SHEERNESS._
To the Tune of _The Vicar of Bray_
I will not sing in Parker’s praise, disgraceful is the story, Nor yet to seamen tune my lays, eclipsed is now their glory; Fell Faction’s head they proudly rear ’gainst country and ’gainst king, sir, And on their land they now do try destruction for to bring, sir. _Then Britons all, with one accord, fight for your Constitution, And let surrounding foes behold we want no revolution._
Parker the means has brought about our seamen to corrupt, sir, And like a daring traitor bold, our trade doth interrupt, sir; The ships at Sheerness rear the flag, the emblem of defiance, With sorrow strikes us to reflect, on them we’ve no reliance. _Then Britons all, etc._
An admiral he calls himself, takes a commander’s station, On board the _Sandwich_ doth insult, and braves the English nation; Gives law, dispenses life and death or punishment disgraceful, And by his arbitrary deeds hath made himself most hateful. _Then Britons all, etc._
A terror to each merchant ship, detains and doth them plunder, And if they offer to sail by, his guns at them do thunder; Whate’er he likes he from them takes, and should they dare refuse, sir, The captain’s ordered to be flogged, thus doth he them ill use, sir. _Then Britons all, etc._
Five hundred pounds is the reward, the traitor to bring in, sir, Who thus the bloody flag hath reared ’gainst country and ’gainst king, sir; Let’s hope the villain quickly will to punishment be brought, sir, Who like a daring traitor bold his country’s ruin sought, sir. _Then Britons all, with one accord, fight for your Constitution, And let surrounding foes behold we want no revolution._
_THE DEATH OF PARKER._
Ye gods above, protect a widow! and with pity look on me. Help, O help me out of trouble, out of sad calamity! It was by the death of Parker fortune prov’d to me unkind; And though hung for mutiny, worse than he were left behind.
Parker was my lawful husband, my bosom friend, whom I loved dear; Yet at the time he was to suffer, alas! I could not him get near! Again I ask’d, again I tried them--three times o’er and o’er, in vain; They still that one request denied me, and ordered me on shore again.
The yellow flag I thought was flying, a signal for my love to die; The gun they fired, as was required, to hang him on the yard-arm high. The boatswain did his best endeavour, and I on shore was sent straightway, Where I stood watching, like a mermaid, to take my husband’s corpse away.
At dead of night, when all was silent and many thousands fast asleep, I, by two female friends attended, into the burying ground did creep. Our trembling hands did serve as shovels with which the mould we moved away, And then the body of my husband carried off without delay.
A mourning coach for him was waiting: we drove to London with all speed, Where decently I had him buried and a sermon o’er him said. And now his sorrows are all over, and he’s free from guilt and pain; I hope in heaven his soul is shining, where I shall meet with him again.
Farewell, Parker, thou bright angel! once thou wert the Navy’s pride; Since we did not die together, separate we must abide. I must wait awhile with patience; on earth I hope not long to stay, When we shall meet once more in glory, and all our sins be wash’d away.
_A NEW SONG IN PRAISE OF ADMIRAL DUNCAN._
By J. PRAT.
Tune _Arethusa_
To tame the Dutch, our treacherous foes, And give Mynheers a bloody nose, Brave Duncan to the Texel goes, Expecting they would meet him. Many boisterous nights and days We roll’d upon the raging seas, Enduring hardships various ways; Wind and cold, in storms we roll’d, Yet our tars and admirals bold Resolved they would beat them.
No toils nor storms the Dutch endure, But snug at home they sleep secure, And judge it safe not to unmoor While Duncan keeps his station. When our brave Admiral saw their plan, He said, ‘We’ll ’tice them if we can: Let it be known that we are gone To Yarmouth Roads to take on board Fresh wholesome stores our isles afford-- They’ll credit the relation.’
Then we bore off for England’s shore, And moored in Yarmouth Roads once more. Our anchors soon the deep explore; We quickly were refitted. Our Admiral soon a signal ’spies: ‘Prepare, my lads!’ he loudly cries; ‘The proud Mynheer from the Texel steers; Our anchors weigh--make no delay, We’ll shew our cowardly enemy ’Tis in vain for to escape us.’
The shore we clear’d, and off we steer’d, And soon in sight the Dutch appear’d; The signal rose, the sailors cheer’d, And quickly rang’d for battle. All hands then to their quarters run, Each tar with courage seiz’d his gun; At twelve the bloody fight begun, At every fire our foes expire; We drubbed them to our heart’s desire: God prosper British sailors!
Dutch ships eleven with fire and rage Did fiercely three of ours engage, But we their fury did assuage And made them to surrender: De Winter haul’d his colours down, And their vice-admiral soon did own That victory British tars must crown; Of eleven more that struck, but four Escap’d to tell their friends on shore That all the rest were taken.
On board the _Ardent_, known so well, Brave Captain Burgess boldly fell; His loss we mourn, but fame shall tell His worth to future ages. Our efforts they could not evade, Two admirals we prisoners made; Ships of the line we captured nine: In a battered state the rest retreat, To weep at home their sad defeat On the glorious eleventh of October.
Let every loyal Briton sing God save great George our King! And in her train may Victory bring Long peace unto our nation; To Duncan and his tars success, Who did the Dutch so warmly dress; And Vincent bold, who Spain controul’d; With Home also, who aim’d a blow That brought the fleet of Gallia low. Success to all true Britons!
_A NEW SONG ON THE ENGAGEMENT FOUGHT BETWEEN THE MARS AND LA HERCULE_ [_sic_] _APRIL 21, 1798._
Bright honor now calls--each true Briton attend Unto these few lines which here I have penn’d. I sing of a battle that was fought at sea, The _Mars_ was the British, the French ship _Herculé_.
CHORUS.
Then fill up a glass to each tar stout and good, Success to each seaman--a tear for brave Hood.
We were cruising off Brest when the French we did spy: We quickly gave chase, but they from us did fly; We crouded each sail and gave them a broadside, Fought them more than two hours and lower’d their pride.
We brought her to England, the flower of France-- Thus, thus may we serve all who dare to advance. She’s been built but six weeks, and her guns were fourscore, Whilst the brave little _Mars_ carry’d seventy-four.
Yet see, see Britannia with sorrow is fill’d, For brave Captain Hood in the action was kill’d; Likewise the Marines lost their captain so bold, His name it was White, worth his full weight in gold.
The French lost three hundred, and we lost threescore, In kill’d and in wounded. Thank God ’twas no more! Here’s a health to the crew of the brave jolly _Mars_, With another full bumper to all jolly tars.
_VERSES WRITTEN ON BOARD HIS MAJESTY’S SHIP THE ASTRÆA, BY THE YOUNGER MIDSHIPMEN OF THAT FRIGATE, 1798._
When in the cockpit all was dim, And not a mid dared show his glim, A youth was left alone. He scratched his head, surveyed his clothes, Then took the other cheering dose, And thus began his moan:--
‘Ah! Cursed be that fatal day When I from home was led astray, In this damned place to dwell: Oh! had I in the country stay’d I might have learnt some useful trade And scorn’d the white lapelle.
‘When first on board the ship I went, My belly full, my mind content,-- No sorrows touched my heart: I view’d my coat, so flash and new, My gay cockade, my hanger too, And thought them wondrous smart.
‘But now, alas! my coat is rent; My hanger’s pawned; my money spent; My former friends I’ve missed; And when of hardships I complain, My messmates swear ’tis all in vain, And cry “What made you list?”
‘But hark! I hear the corp’ral’s tread: Another dose, and then to bed, Of every joy bereft: I shake my bottle with a doubt; My poor half-pint is quite drained out, Not one kind drop is left.’
The youth with indignation burns, Into his hated hammock turns; Alas! not long to sleep: The quartermaster, with hoarse tongue, Awakes him; says ‘The bell has rung!’ He’s roused, his watch to keep.
Shiv’ring he walks the quarter-deck, Dreading the stern lieutenant’s check, Who struts the weather-side; With glass and trumpet in his hand, He bellows forth his harsh command, With arrogance and pride.
_THE BATTLE OF THE NILE._
[Fragment.]
Come, all you British sailors bold, and listen to my song: It’s well worth your attention, and I will not keep you long; It’s of a British squadron that sailed the other day, Commanded by Lord Nelson on the 29th of May.
We had just twelve sail of the line, our fleet it was no more, Besides a frigate and a brig, to cruise the Straits all o’er. In chasing of those French dogs our intention it was good, With the wind at S.S.E., my boys, our course for Naples stood.
When we came to Naples no French fleet had been there; Back to the isle of Sicily our course we then did steer, Where we watered all our warlike ships, likewise refreshed our men. All things complete, and the wind set fair, we put to sea again.
We scarce had made the island when a strange sail we spied, Gave chase and soon came up with her--she proved the _Reguli_. She told us Malta was taken and the French fleet put to sea With the whole of their old troops on board, bound for Alexandrie.
Great was our disappointment; our ships their winds did haul, And slowly standing down the coast in a silent cruise we call. [_They sight the ‘Pharos’ and open the bay._ And there we spied the French fleet about three leagues or more.
[_They bear down and form line of battle._ It was the first of August, that being our glorious day When we began the action, ’twas in Aboukir Bay.
[_The next verses name all the ships in their order._]
The _Zealous_ led the way, my boys,... ... the _Bellerophon_ and _Minotaur_, All followed by the bold _Vanguard_ which made the French to rue.
* * * * *
We anchored alongside of them like lions bold and free. When their masts and shrouds came tumbling down, what a glorious sight to see!
* * * * *
Then came the bold _Leander_, that noble fifty-four, And on the bows of the _Franklin_ she caused her guns to roar; Gave her a dreadful drubbing, boys, and did severely maul, Which caused them loud for quarter cry and down French colours haul.
Now the glory and the pride of France the _L’Orient_ was called, And in the centre of their line she got severely mauled; Gave her a dreadful drubbing, boys, took fire and up she blew, With fourteen hundred souls on board which bid this world adieu.
And now we’ve taken the French fleet--Lord speed them on their way!-- Besides some more we burnt and sunk before we left the bay. May we always prove victorious while we sail on the seas, Against the French, the Dutch, the Danes, and all our enemies.
_THE ARROW SLOOP OF WAR._
You Britons bold, that never was controul’d, come listen unto me, And a song to you I’ll sing, none but the truth you’ll hear: Concerning of a fight, brave boys, which happen’d late, you know, Commanded by bold Portlock, and the ship call’d the _Arrow_.
The most of people call’d her the _Carpenter’s Mistake_, Because she had two maintopsail-yards, and head and stern alike. They said she’d prove a coffin to all our brave ship’s crew; But instead of that, my British boys made the Dutch dogs to rue.
We being new constructed, they said our guns were leather; They said we steer’d by sleight of hand, they could not see our ruther. They said our sides were gingerbread, and our shot were made of clay, But the Dutch they prov’d full sorry on’t when us they felt that day.
On the thirteenth of September we saw a Dutch ship lay All at anchor in Hallen’s stream: we bore for her straightway. In full fifteen minutes raked fore and aft we were Before we could come up to her or bring our guns to bear.
But, when we did come up to her, our anchor we let go. Their captain cries, ‘Come, British boys, we will make sure of you.’ But when we did begin, my boys, the yards and rigging flew For raking us we paid them off, both for the old and new.
The second broadside we gave to them their ensign staff came down. ‘Well done, my boys!’ our captain cries; ‘they see us in Hallen stream town How we do use their shipping so nigh unto their shore.’ And the people stood a-looking on, and heard our great guns roar.
For five-and-twenty minutes so swift we sent them shot, Our action it was very short, but it was very hot. Whilst they sung out for quarter, our captain he did say, ‘Avast, my boys, with honour, we’ve shown them British play.
‘The action being over, and the pris’ners safe on board, We’ll keep safe below, my boys, and toss a can of grog. And when we come to Portsmouth, with a girl on each knee, We’ll spend our money cheerfully, and then again to sea.’
It is now for to finish this my warlike song, I am a saucy foremast Jack, to the _Arrow_ do belong. In praise of Captain Portlock and his officers we’ll sing, And not forgetting the _Arrow’s_ crew, and long live George our King!
_COPENHAGEN._
Of Nelson and the north, Sing the day, When, their haughty powers to vex, He engaged the Danish decks; And with twenty floating wrecks Crowned the fray.
All bright, in April’s sun, Shone the day, When a British fleet came down Through the islands of the Crown, And by Copenhagen town Took their stay.
In arms the Danish shore Proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand In a bold, determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on.
For Denmark here had drawn All her might: From her battleships so vast She had hewn away the mast, And at anchor, to the last Bade them fight.
Another noble fleet Of their line Rode out; but these were nought To the batteries which they brought Like Leviathans afloat In the brine.
It was ten of Thursday morn By the chime, As they drifted on their path There was silence deep as death, And the boldest held his breath For a time--
Ere a first and fatal round Shook the flood. Every Dane looked out that day, Like the red wolt on his prey; And he swore his flag to sway O’er our blood.
Not such a mind possessed England’s tar; ’Twas the love of noble game Set his oaken heart on flame-- For to him ’twas all the same, Sport and war.
All hands and eyes on watch As they keep; By their motion light as wings, By each step that haughty springs, You might know them for the kings Of the deep.
’Twas the _Edgar_ first that smote Denmark’s line; As her flag the foremost soared, Murray stamped his foot on board, And an hundred cannons roared At the sign.
Three cheers of all the fleet Sung Huzza! Then from centre, rear, and van, Every captain, every man, With a lion’s heart began To the fray.
Oh, dark grew soon the heavens-- For each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like a hurricane eclipse Of the sun.
Three hours the raging fire Did not slack; But the fourth, their signals drear Of distress and wreck appear, And the Dane a feeble cheer Sent us back.
The voice decayed; their shots Slowly boom. They ceased--and all is wail, As they strike the shattered sail, Or in conflagration pale Light the gloom.
Oh, death--it was a sight Filled our eyes! But we rescued many a crew From the waves of scarlet hue Ere the Cross of England flew O’er her prize.
Why cease not here the strife, O ye brave? Why bleeds old England’s band By the fire of Danish land, That smites the very hand Stretched to save?
But the Britons sent to warn Denmark’s town: ‘Proud foes, let vengeance sleep! If another chain-shot sweep-- All your navy in the deep Shall go down.
‘Then, peace instead of death Let us bring! If you’ll yield your conquered fleet, With the crews, at England’s feet, And make submission meet To our King.’