Part 31

You first confined our commerce, and said our ships sha’n’t trade; You next impressed our seamen, and used them as your slaves; You then insulted Rogers while ploughing o’er the main, And had not we declared war you’d have done it o’er again.

You thought our frigates were but few and Yankees could not fight, Until brave Hull your _Guerrière_ took and banished her from your sight. The _Wasp_ then took your _Frolic_, we’ll nothing say to that-- The _Poictiers_ being of the line, of course she took her back.

The next, your _Macedonian_, no finer ship could swim, Decatur took her gilt-work off, and then he sent her in. The _Java_ by a Yankee ship was sunk, you all must know; The _Peacock_ fine, in all her plume, by Lawrence down did go.

Then next you sent your _Boxer_ to box us all about, But we had an _Enterprising_ brig that beat your _Boxer_ out; We boxed her up to Portland and moored her off the town, To show the sons of liberty the _Boxer_ of renown.

The next upon Lake Erie, where Perry had some fun, You own he beat your naval force, and caused them for to run; This was to you a sore defeat, the like ne’er known before-- Your British squadron beat complete--some took, some run ashore.

There’s Rogers, in the _President_, will burn, sink and destroy; The _Congress_, on the Brazil coast, your commerce will annoy; The _Essex_, in the South Seas, will put out all your lights, The flag she waves at her mast-head--‘Free Trade and Sailors’ Rights.’

Lament, ye sons of Britain, far distant is the day When you’ll regain by British force what you’ve lost in America; Go tell your King and Parliament, by all the world ’tis known That British force by sea and land by Yankees is o’erthrown.

Use every endeavour, and strive to make a peace, For Yankee ships are building fast, their navy to increase; They will enforce their commerce, the laws by heaven are made That Yankee ships in time of peace to any port may trade.

_THE CONSTITUTION AND GUERRIÈRE._

Air--_The Landlady of France_.

It oft-times has been told That the British seamen bold Could flog the tars of France So neat and handy, O! But they never met their match Till the Yankees did them catch,-- Oh! the Yankee boy for fighting Is the dandy, O!

The _Guerrière_, a frigate bold, On the foaming ocean roll’d, Commanded by proud Dacres, All the grandee, O! With as choice a British crew As a rammer ever drew,-- They could flog the French men, two to one So handy, O!

When this frigate bore in view, Says proud Dacres to his crew: ‘Come! clear the ship for action And be handy, O! To the weather-gage, boys, get her!’-- And to make his men fight better Gave them gunpowder to drink Mixed with brandy, O!

Then Dacres loudly cries, ‘Make this Yankee ship your prize,-- You can in thirty minutes, Neat and handy, O! Twenty-five’s enough, I’m sure; And if you do it in a score I’ll treat you to a double share Of brandy, O!’

The British shot flew hot, Which the Yankee answered not Till they got within the distance They call handy, O! Now says Hull unto his crew: ‘Boys, let’s see what we can do!-- If we take this boasting Briton We’re the dandy, O!’

The first broadside we poured, Came her mainmast by the board, Which made this lofty frigate Look abandoned, O’! Then Dacres shook his head, And to his officers he said, ‘Lord--I didn’t think these Yankees Were so handy, O!’

Our second told so well That their fore and mizen fell, Which doused the royal ensign Neat and handy, O! ‘By George!’ says he, ‘we’re done!’-- And then fired a lee gun, While the Yankees struck up ‘Yankee doodle dandy, O!’

Then Dacres came on board To deliver up his sword, Loth was he to part with it, ’Twas so handy, O! ‘Oh! keep your sword,’ says Hull, ‘For it only makes you dull; Cheer up,--and take a little drink Of brandy, O!’

Come! fill your glasses full! And we’ll drink ‘To Captain Hull,’ And so merrily we’ll push about The brandy, O! John Bull may toast his fill! But let the world say what it will, The Yankee boy for fighting Is the dandy, O!

_SHANNON AND CHESAPEAKE._

The _Chesapeake_ so bold, 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._