CANTO I.--THE CAPTURE

_Amid these ills no tyrant dared refuse My right to pen the dictates of the muse, To paint the terrors of the infernal place, And fiends from Europe, insolent as base._

Assist me, Clio! while in verse I tell The dire misfortunes that a ship befell, Which outward bound, to St. Eustatia's shore, Death and disaster through the billows bore. From Philadelphia's crowded port she came; For there the builder plann'd her lofty frame, With wond'rous skill, and excellence of art He form'd, dispos'd, and order'd every part, With joy beheld the stately fabric rise To a stout bulwark of stupendous size, 'Till launch'd at last, capacious of the freight, He left her to the Pilots, and her fate. First from her depths the tapering masts ascend, On whose firm bulk the transverse yards depend, By shrouds and stays secur'd from side to side Trees grew on trees, suspended o'er the tide, Firm to the yards extended, broad and vast They hung the sails susceptive of the blast, Far o'er the prow the lengthy bowsprit lay, Supporting on the extreme the taught Gib-stay, Twice ten six pounders at their port holes plac'd And rang'd in rows, stood hostile in the waist: Thus all prepar'd, impatient for the seas, She left her station with an adverse breeze, This her first outset from her native shore, To seas a stranger, and untry'd before. From the bright radiance that his glories spread Ere from the east gay Phoebus lifts his head, From the sweet morn, a kindred name she won, _Aurora_ call'd, the offspring of the sun, Whose form projecting, the broad prow displays, Far glittering o'er the wave, a mimic blaze. The gay ship now, in all her pomp and pride, With sails expanded, flew along the tide; 'Twas thy deep stream, O Delaware, that bore This pile intended for a southern shore, Bound to those isles where endless summer reigns, Fair fruits, gay blossoms, and enamell'd plains; Where sloping lawns the roving swain invite, And the cool morn succeeds the breezy night, Where each glad day a heaven unclouded brings And sky-topt mountains teem with golden springs. From Cape Henlopen, urg'd by favouring gales, When morn emerg'd, we sea-ward spread our sails, Then east-south-east explor'd the briny way, Close to the wind, departing from the bay; No longer seen the hoarse resounding strand, With hearts elate we hurried from the land, Escap'd the dangers of that shelvy ground, To sailors fatal, and for wrecks renown'd.-- The gale increases as we stem the main, Now scarce the hills their sky-blue mist retain, At last they sink beneath the rolling wave That seems their summits, as they sink, to lave; Abaft the beam the freshening breezes play, No mists advancing to deform the day, No tempests rising o'er the splendid scene, A sea unruffled, and a heaven serene. Now Sol's bright lamp, the heav'n born source of light, Had pass'd the line of his meridian height, And westward hung--retreating from the view Shores disappear'd, and every hill withdrew, When, still suspicious of some neighbouring foe, Aloft the Master bade a Seaman go, To mark if, from the mast's aspiring height Through all the round a vessel came in sight. Too soon the Seaman's glance, extending wide, Far distant in the east a ship espy'd, Her lofty masts stood bending to the gale, Close to the wind was brac'd each shivering sail; Next from the deck we saw the approaching foe, Her spangled bottom seem'd in flames to glow When to the winds she bow'd in dreadful haste And her lee-guns lay delug'd in the waste: From her top-gallant flow'd an English Jack; With all her might she strove to gain our track, Nor strove in vain--with pride and power elate, Wing'd on by hell, she drove us to our fate; No stop no stay her bloody crew intends, (So flies a comet with its host of fiends) Nor oaths, nor prayers arrest her swift career, Death in her front, and ruin in her rear. Struck at the sight, the Master gave command To change our course, and steer toward the land-- Swift to the task the ready sailors run, And while the word was utter'd, half was done: As from the south the fiercer breezes rise Swift from her foe alarm'd Aurora flies, With every sail extended to the wind She fled the unequal foe that chac'd behind; Along her decks dispos'd in close array Each at its port, the grim artillery lay, Soon on the foe with brazen throat to roar; But, small their size, and narrow was their bore; Yet faithful they their destin'd station keep To guard the barque that wafts them o'er the deep, Who now must bend to steer a homeward course And trust her swiftness rather than her force, Unfit to combat with a powerful foe; Her decks too open, and her waist too low. While o'er the wave with foaming prow she flies, Once more emerging, distant landscapes rise; High in the air the starry streamer plays, And every sail its various tribute pays: To gain the land we bore the weighty blast; And now the wish'd for cape appear'd at last; But the vext foe, impatient of delay, Prepar'd for ruin, press'd upon her prey; Near, and more near, in aweful grandeur came The frigate _Iris_, not unknown to fame; _Iris_ her name, but _Hancock_ once she bore, Fram'd and completed on New Albion's shore, By Manly lost, the swiftest of the train That fly with wings of canvas o'er the main. Now, while for combat some with zeal prepare, Thus to the heavens the Boatswain sent his prayer: "List, all ye powers that rule the skies and seas! "Shower down perdition on such thieves as these, "Fate, strike their hearts with terror and dismay, "And sprinkle on their powder salt-sea spray! "May bursting cannon, while his aim he tries, "Destroy the Gunner, and be-damn his eyes-- "The chief who awes the quarter-deck, may he, "Tripp'd from his stand, be tumbled in the sea. "May they who rule the round-top's giddy height "Be canted headlong to perpetual night; "May fiends torment them on a leeward coast, "And help forsake them when they want it most-- "From their wheel'd engines torn be every gun-- "And now, to sum up every curse in one, "May latent flames, to save us, intervene, "And hell-ward drive them from their magazine!"-- The Frigate now had every sail unfurl'd, And rush'd tremendous o'er the wat'ry world; Thus fierce Pelides, eager to destroy, Chac'd the proud Trojan to the gates of Troy-- Swift o'er the waves while hostile they pursue As swiftly from their fangs _Aurora_ flew, At length Henlopen's cape we gain'd once more, And vainly strove to force the ship ashore; Stern fate forbade the barren shore to gain, Denial sad, and source of future pain! For then the inspiring breezes ceas'd to blow, Lost were they all, and smooth the seas below; By the broad cape becalm'd, our lifeless sails No longer swell'd their bosoms to the gales; The ship, unable to pursue her way, Tumbling about, at her own guidance lay, No more the helm its wonted influence lends, No oars assist us, and no breeze befriends; Meantime the foe, advancing from the sea, Rang'd her black cannon, pointed on our lee, Then up she luff'd, and blaz'd her entrails dire, Bearing destruction, terror, death and fire. Vext at our fate, we prim'd a piece, and then Return'd the shot, to shew them we were men. Dull night at length her dusky pinions spread, And every hope to 'scape the foe was fled; Close to thy cape, Henlopen, though we press'd, We could not gain thy desert, dreary breast; Though ruin'd trees beshroud thy barren shore With mounds of sand half hid, or cover'd o'er, Though ruffian winds disturb thy summit bare, Yet every hope and every wish was there; In vain we sought to reach the joyless strand, Fate stood between, and barr'd us from the land. All dead becalm'd, and helpless as we lay, The ebbing current forc'd us back to sea, While vengeful _Iris_, thirsting for our blood, Flash'd her red lightnings o'er the trembling flood, At every flash a storm of ruin came 'Till our shock'd vessel shook through all her frame-- Mad for revenge, our breasts with fury glow To wreak returns of vengeance on the foe; Full at his hull our pointed guns we rais'd, His hull resounded as the cannon blaz'd; Through his main top-sail one a passage tore, His sides re-echo'd to the dreadful roar, Alternate fires dispell'd the shades of night-- But how unequal was this daring fight! Our stoutest guns threw but a six-pound ball, Twelve pounders from the foe our sides did maul, And, while no power to save him intervenes, A bullet struck our captain of Marines; Fierce, though he bid defiance to the foe He felt his death and ruin in the blow, Headlong he fell, distracted with the wound, The deck distain'd, and heart blood streaming round. Another blast, as fatal in its aim, Wing'd by destruction, through our rigging came, And, whistling tunes from hell upon its way, Shrouds, stays, and braces tore at once away, Sails, blocks, and oars in scatter'd fragments fly-- Their softest language was--_submit, or die!_ Repeated cries throughout the ship resound; Now every bullet brought a different wound; 'Twixt wind and water, one assail'd the side, Through this aperture rush'd the briny tide-- 'Twas then the Master trembled for his crew, And bade thy shores, O Delaware, adieu!-- And must we yield to yon' destructive ball, And must our colours to these ruffians fall!-- They fall!--his thunders forc'd our pride to bend, The lofty topsails with their yards descend, And the proud foe, such leagues of ocean pass'd, His wish completed in our woe at last. Convey'd to York, we found, at length, too late, That Death was better than the prisoner's fate; There doom'd to famine, shackles and despair, Condemn'd to breathe a foul, infected air In sickly hulks, devoted while we lay, Successive funerals gloom'd each dismal day-- But what on captives British rage can do, Another Canto, friend, shall let you know.