Chapter 34

From Halifax station a bully there came,To take or be taken, call'd Dacres by name:But 'twas who but a Yankee he met on his way—Says the Yankee to him, "Will you stop and take tea?"Then Dacres steps up, thus addressing his crew:—"Don't you see that d—d flag that is red, white, and blue;Let us drum all to quarters, prepare for to fight,For in taking that ship boys, it will make me a knight."Then up to each mast-head he straight sent a flag,Which shows, on the ocean, a proud British brag;But Hull, being pleasant, he sent up but one,And told every seaman to stand true to his gun.Then Hull, like a hero, before them appears,And with a short speech his sailors he cheers,Saying, "We'll batter their sides, and we'll do the neat thing:We'll conquer their bully, and laugh at their king."Then we off with our hats and gave him a cheer,Swore we'd stick by brave Hull, while a seaman could steer;And at it we went with mutual delight,For to fight and to conquer's a sailor's free right.Then we crowded all sail, and we ran alongside,And we wellfed our bull-dogs with true Yankee pride.'Twas broadside for broadside we on them did pour,While cannon's loud mouths at each other did roar.Says Dacres, "Fight on, and we'll have her in tow,We will drink to Great Britain, and the cans they shall flow;So strike, you d—d Yankee, I'll make you with ease:"But the man they call Hull, says, "O no, if you please."Then Dacres wore ship, expecting to rake;But quite in a hurry, found out his mistake;For we luff'd round his bow, boys, and caught his jib-boom,And, in raking them aft, we soon gave him his doom.Then Dacres look'd wild, and then sheath'd his sword,When he found that his masts were all gone by the board,And dropping astern cries out to the steward,"Come up and be d—d, fire a gun to the leeward."Then we off with our hats, and we gave them three cheers,Which bitterly stung all those Englishmen's ears;Saying, "We'll fight for our country, do all things that's right,And let the world know, that green Yankees can fight."

From Halifax station a bully there came,To take or be taken, call'd Dacres by name:But 'twas who but a Yankee he met on his way—Says the Yankee to him, "Will you stop and take tea?"

Then Dacres steps up, thus addressing his crew:—"Don't you see that d—d flag that is red, white, and blue;Let us drum all to quarters, prepare for to fight,For in taking that ship boys, it will make me a knight."

Then up to each mast-head he straight sent a flag,Which shows, on the ocean, a proud British brag;But Hull, being pleasant, he sent up but one,And told every seaman to stand true to his gun.

Then Hull, like a hero, before them appears,And with a short speech his sailors he cheers,Saying, "We'll batter their sides, and we'll do the neat thing:We'll conquer their bully, and laugh at their king."

Then we off with our hats and gave him a cheer,Swore we'd stick by brave Hull, while a seaman could steer;And at it we went with mutual delight,For to fight and to conquer's a sailor's free right.

Then we crowded all sail, and we ran alongside,And we wellfed our bull-dogs with true Yankee pride.'Twas broadside for broadside we on them did pour,While cannon's loud mouths at each other did roar.

Says Dacres, "Fight on, and we'll have her in tow,We will drink to Great Britain, and the cans they shall flow;So strike, you d—d Yankee, I'll make you with ease:"But the man they call Hull, says, "O no, if you please."

Then Dacres wore ship, expecting to rake;But quite in a hurry, found out his mistake;For we luff'd round his bow, boys, and caught his jib-boom,And, in raking them aft, we soon gave him his doom.

Then Dacres look'd wild, and then sheath'd his sword,When he found that his masts were all gone by the board,And dropping astern cries out to the steward,"Come up and be d—d, fire a gun to the leeward."

Then we off with our hats, and we gave them three cheers,Which bitterly stung all those Englishmen's ears;Saying, "We'll fight for our country, do all things that's right,And let the world know, that green Yankees can fight."

ON THE CAPTURE OF THE GUERRIÈRE

[August 19, 1812]

Long the tyrant of our coastReigned the famous Guerrière;Our little navy she defied,Public ship and privateer:On her sails in letters red,To our captains were displayedWords of warning, words of dread,"All who meet me, have a care!I am England's Guerrière."On the wide, Atlantic deep(Not her equal for the fight)The Constitution, on her way,Chanced to meet these men of might;On her sails was nothing said,But her waist the teeth displayedThat a deal of blood could shed,Which, if she would venture near,Would stain the decks of the Guerrière.Now our gallant ship they met—And, to struggle with John Bull—Who had come, they little thought,Strangers, yet, to Isaac Hull:Better soon to be acquainted:Isaac hailed the Lord's anointed—While the crew the cannon pointed,And the balls were so directedWith a blaze so unexpected;Isaac so did maul and rake herThat the decks of Captain DacreWere in such a woful pickleAs if death with scythe and sickle,With his sling, or with his shaftHad cut his harvest fore and aft.Thus, in thirty minutes ended,Mischiefs that could not be mended;Masts, and yards, and ship descended,All to David Jones's locker—Such a ship in such a pucker!Drink a bout to the Constitution!She performed some execution,Did some share of retributionFor the insults of the yearWhen she took the Guerrière.May success again await her,Let who will again command her,Bainbridge, Rodgers, or Decatur—Nothing like her can withstand her.With a crew like that on board herWho so boldly called "to order"One bold crew of English sailors,Long, too long our seamen's jailors,Dacre and the Guerrière!Philip Freneau.

On the wide, Atlantic deep(Not her equal for the fight)The Constitution, on her way,Chanced to meet these men of might;On her sails was nothing said,But her waist the teeth displayedThat a deal of blood could shed,Which, if she would venture near,Would stain the decks of the Guerrière.

Now our gallant ship they met—And, to struggle with John Bull—Who had come, they little thought,Strangers, yet, to Isaac Hull:Better soon to be acquainted:Isaac hailed the Lord's anointed—While the crew the cannon pointed,And the balls were so directedWith a blaze so unexpected;

Isaac so did maul and rake herThat the decks of Captain DacreWere in such a woful pickleAs if death with scythe and sickle,With his sling, or with his shaftHad cut his harvest fore and aft.Thus, in thirty minutes ended,Mischiefs that could not be mended;Masts, and yards, and ship descended,All to David Jones's locker—Such a ship in such a pucker!

Drink a bout to the Constitution!She performed some execution,Did some share of retributionFor the insults of the yearWhen she took the Guerrière.May success again await her,Let who will again command her,Bainbridge, Rodgers, or Decatur—Nothing like her can withstand her.With a crew like that on board herWho so boldly called "to order"One bold crew of English sailors,Long, too long our seamen's jailors,Dacre and the Guerrière!

Philip Freneau.

FIRSTFRUITS IN 1812

[August 19, 1812]

What is that a-billowing thereLike a thunderhead in air?Why should such a sight be whitening the seas?That's a Yankee man-o'-war,And three things she's seeking for—For a prize, and for a battle, and a breeze.When the war blew o'er the seaOut went Hull and out went weIn the Constitution, looking for the foe;But five British ships came down—And we got to Boston-townBy a mighty narrow margin, you must know!Captain Hull can't fight their fleet,But he fairly aches to meetQuite the prettiest British ship of all there were;So he stands again to seaIn the hope that on his leeHe'll catch Dacres and his pretty Guerrière.'Tis an August afternoonNot a day too late or soon,When we raise a ship whose lettered mainsail reads:All who meet me have a care,I am England's Guerrière;So Hull gayly clears for action as he speeds.Cheery bells had chanted fiveOn the happiest day aliveWhen we Yankees dance to quarters at his call;While the British bang awayWith their broadsides' screech and bray;But the Constitution never fires a ball.We send up three times to askIf we sha'n't begin our task?Captain Hull sends back each time the answerNo;Till to half a pistol-shotThe two frigates he had brought,Then he whispers,Lay along!—and we let go.Twice our broadside lights and lifts,And the Briton, crippled, driftsWith her mizzen dangling hopeless at her poop:Laughs a Yankee,She's a brig!Says our Captain,That's too big;Try another, so we'll have her for a sloop!We hurrah, and fire again,Lay aboard of her like men,And, like men, they beat us off, and try in turn;But we drive bold Dacres backWith our muskets' snap and crack—All the while our crashing broadsides boom and burn.'Tis but half an hour, bare,When that pretty GuerrièreNot a stick calls hers aloft or hers alow,Save the mizzen's shattered mast,Where her "meteor flag" 's nailed fastTill, a fallen star, we quench its ruddy glow.Dacres, injured, o'er our sideSlowly bears his sword of pride,Holds it out, as Hull stands there in his renown:No, no!says th' American,Never, from so brave a man—But I see you're wounded, let me help you down.All that night we work in vainKeeping her upon the main,But we've hulled her far too often, and at lastIn a blaze of fire thereDies the pretty Guerrière;While away we cheerly sail upon the blast.Oh, the breeze that blows so free!Oh, the prize beneath the sea!Oh, the battle!—was there ever better won?Still the happy Yankee cheersAre a-ringing in our earsFrom old Boston, glorying in what we've done.What is that a-billowing thereLike a thunderhead in air?Why should such a sight be whitening the seas?That's Old Ir'nsides, trim and taut,And she's found the things she sought—Found a prize, a bully battle, and a breeze!Wallace Rice.

When the war blew o'er the seaOut went Hull and out went weIn the Constitution, looking for the foe;But five British ships came down—And we got to Boston-townBy a mighty narrow margin, you must know!

Captain Hull can't fight their fleet,But he fairly aches to meetQuite the prettiest British ship of all there were;So he stands again to seaIn the hope that on his leeHe'll catch Dacres and his pretty Guerrière.

'Tis an August afternoonNot a day too late or soon,When we raise a ship whose lettered mainsail reads:All who meet me have a care,I am England's Guerrière;So Hull gayly clears for action as he speeds.

Cheery bells had chanted fiveOn the happiest day aliveWhen we Yankees dance to quarters at his call;While the British bang awayWith their broadsides' screech and bray;But the Constitution never fires a ball.

We send up three times to askIf we sha'n't begin our task?Captain Hull sends back each time the answerNo;Till to half a pistol-shotThe two frigates he had brought,Then he whispers,Lay along!—and we let go.

Twice our broadside lights and lifts,And the Briton, crippled, driftsWith her mizzen dangling hopeless at her poop:Laughs a Yankee,She's a brig!Says our Captain,That's too big;Try another, so we'll have her for a sloop!

We hurrah, and fire again,Lay aboard of her like men,And, like men, they beat us off, and try in turn;But we drive bold Dacres backWith our muskets' snap and crack—All the while our crashing broadsides boom and burn.

'Tis but half an hour, bare,When that pretty GuerrièreNot a stick calls hers aloft or hers alow,Save the mizzen's shattered mast,Where her "meteor flag" 's nailed fastTill, a fallen star, we quench its ruddy glow.

Dacres, injured, o'er our sideSlowly bears his sword of pride,Holds it out, as Hull stands there in his renown:No, no!says th' American,Never, from so brave a man—But I see you're wounded, let me help you down.

All that night we work in vainKeeping her upon the main,But we've hulled her far too often, and at lastIn a blaze of fire thereDies the pretty Guerrière;While away we cheerly sail upon the blast.

Oh, the breeze that blows so free!Oh, the prize beneath the sea!Oh, the battle!—was there ever better won?Still the happy Yankee cheersAre a-ringing in our earsFrom old Boston, glorying in what we've done.

What is that a-billowing thereLike a thunderhead in air?Why should such a sight be whitening the seas?That's Old Ir'nsides, trim and taut,And she's found the things she sought—Found a prize, a bully battle, and a breeze!

Wallace Rice.

This victory, needless to say, greatly encouraged the Americans, and General Stephen van Rensselaer, in command of the northern army, determined to try another stroke at Canada. On October 13, 1812, he started to cross the Niagara River with six hundred men; but the crossing was mismanaged, the militia refused to obey orders, and after a gallant fight lasting all day, the Americans were forced to surrender to an overwhelming force of British and Indians.

THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTOWN

[October 13, 1812]

When brave Van Rensselaer cross'd the stream,Just at the break of day,Distressing thoughts, a restless dream,Disturb'd me where I lay.But all the terrors of the nightDid quickly flee away:My opening eyes beheld the light,And hail'd the new-born day.Soon did the murdering cannon's roarPut blood in all my veins;Columbia's sons have trod the shoreWhere the proud Britain reigns.To expose their breast to cannon's ball,Their country's rights to save,O what a grief to see them fall!True heroes, bold and brave!The musket's flash, the cannon's glow,Thunder'd and lighten'd round,Struck dread on all the tawny foe,And swept them to the ground.I thought what numbers must be slain,What weeping widows left!And aged parents full of pain,Of every joy bereft.The naked savage yelling roundOur heroes where they stood,And every weapon to be foundWas bathed in human blood.But bold Van Rensselaer, full of wounds,Was quickly carried back;Brave Colonel Bloom did next commandThe bloody fierce attack.Where Brock, the proud insulter, ridesIn pomp and splendor great;Our valiant heroes he derides,And dared the power of fate."Here is a mark for Yankee boys,So shoot me if you can:"A Yankee ball soon closed his eyes,Death found him but a man.They slaughter'd down the tawny foe,And Britons that were near;They dealt out death at every blow,The battle was severe.Five battles fought all in one day,Through four victorious stood,But ah! the fifth swept all away,And spilt our heroes' blood.The tomahawk and scalping-knifeOn them did try their skill;Some wounded, struggling for their life,Did black barbarians kill.Brave Wadsworth boldly kept the fieldTill their last bullets flew;Then all were prisoners forced to yield,What could the general do?Militia men! O fie for shame!Thus you your country flee.'Tis you at last will bear the blameFor loss of victory.When mild Van Rensselaer did command,You would not him obey;But stood spectators on the strand,To see the bloody fray.The number kill'd was seventy-four,Prisoners, seven hundred sixty-nine,Wounded, two hundred or more,Who languish'd in great pain.Some have already lost their lives,And others like to go;But few, I fear, will tell their wivesThe doleful tale of wo.William Banker, Jr.

When brave Van Rensselaer cross'd the stream,Just at the break of day,Distressing thoughts, a restless dream,Disturb'd me where I lay.

But all the terrors of the nightDid quickly flee away:My opening eyes beheld the light,And hail'd the new-born day.

Soon did the murdering cannon's roarPut blood in all my veins;Columbia's sons have trod the shoreWhere the proud Britain reigns.

To expose their breast to cannon's ball,Their country's rights to save,O what a grief to see them fall!True heroes, bold and brave!

The musket's flash, the cannon's glow,Thunder'd and lighten'd round,Struck dread on all the tawny foe,And swept them to the ground.

I thought what numbers must be slain,What weeping widows left!And aged parents full of pain,Of every joy bereft.

The naked savage yelling roundOur heroes where they stood,And every weapon to be foundWas bathed in human blood.

But bold Van Rensselaer, full of wounds,Was quickly carried back;Brave Colonel Bloom did next commandThe bloody fierce attack.

Where Brock, the proud insulter, ridesIn pomp and splendor great;Our valiant heroes he derides,And dared the power of fate.

"Here is a mark for Yankee boys,So shoot me if you can:"A Yankee ball soon closed his eyes,Death found him but a man.

They slaughter'd down the tawny foe,And Britons that were near;They dealt out death at every blow,The battle was severe.

Five battles fought all in one day,Through four victorious stood,But ah! the fifth swept all away,And spilt our heroes' blood.

The tomahawk and scalping-knifeOn them did try their skill;Some wounded, struggling for their life,Did black barbarians kill.

Brave Wadsworth boldly kept the fieldTill their last bullets flew;Then all were prisoners forced to yield,What could the general do?

Militia men! O fie for shame!Thus you your country flee.'Tis you at last will bear the blameFor loss of victory.

When mild Van Rensselaer did command,You would not him obey;But stood spectators on the strand,To see the bloody fray.

The number kill'd was seventy-four,Prisoners, seven hundred sixty-nine,Wounded, two hundred or more,Who languish'd in great pain.

Some have already lost their lives,And others like to go;But few, I fear, will tell their wivesThe doleful tale of wo.

William Banker, Jr.

But disasters on land seemed fated to be followed by victories on the water. About noon of October 18, 1812, the American 18-gun sloop of war, Wasp, encountered the 20-gun British brig,Frolic, off Albemarle Sound, and, after a severe action, boarded and compelled her to surrender. Shortly afterwards, a sail hove in sight, which proved to be the British 74, Poictiers, and, running down on the sloops, she seized both the Wasp and her prize and carried them to Bermuda.

THE WASP'S FROLIC

[October 18, 1812]

'Twas on board the sloop of war Wasp, boys,We set sail from Delaware Bay,To cruise on Columbia's fair coast, sirs,Our rights to maintain on the sea.Three days were not passed on our station,When the Frolic came up to our view;Says Jones, "Show the flag of our nation;"Three cheers were then gave by our crew.We boldly bore up to this Briton,Whose cannon began for to roar;The Wasp soon her stings from her side ran,When we on them a broadside did pour.Each sailor stood firm at his quarters,'Twas minutes past forth and three,When fifty bold Britons were slaughtered,Whilst our guns swept their masts in the sea.Their breasts then with valor still glowing,Acknowledged the battle we'd won,On us then bright laurels bestowing,When to leeward they fired a gun.On their decks we the twenty guns counted,With a crew for to answer the same;Eighteen was the number we mounted,Being served by the lads of true game.With the Frolic in tow, we were standing,All in for Columbia's fair shore;But fate on our laurels was frowning,We were taken by a seventy-four.

'Twas on board the sloop of war Wasp, boys,We set sail from Delaware Bay,To cruise on Columbia's fair coast, sirs,Our rights to maintain on the sea.

Three days were not passed on our station,When the Frolic came up to our view;Says Jones, "Show the flag of our nation;"Three cheers were then gave by our crew.

We boldly bore up to this Briton,Whose cannon began for to roar;The Wasp soon her stings from her side ran,When we on them a broadside did pour.

Each sailor stood firm at his quarters,'Twas minutes past forth and three,When fifty bold Britons were slaughtered,Whilst our guns swept their masts in the sea.

Their breasts then with valor still glowing,Acknowledged the battle we'd won,On us then bright laurels bestowing,When to leeward they fired a gun.

On their decks we the twenty guns counted,With a crew for to answer the same;Eighteen was the number we mounted,Being served by the lads of true game.

With the Frolic in tow, we were standing,All in for Columbia's fair shore;But fate on our laurels was frowning,We were taken by a seventy-four.

A more signal victory was soon to be recorded. On the morning of October 25, 1812, near the Canary Islands, the British 38-gun frigate, Macedonian, was overhauled by the American 44, United States, and an hour after the action began, was reduced to a wreck by the terrible fire of the American. A prize crew was put aboard, repaired her, and got her safely to New York.

THE UNITED STATES AND THE MACEDONIAN

[October 25, 1812]

How glows each patriot bosom that boasts a Yankee heart,To emulate such glorious deeds and nobly take a part;When sailors with their thund'ring guns,Prove to the English, French, and DanesThat Neptune's chosen fav'rite sonsAre brave Yankee boys.The twenty-fifth of October, that glorious happy day,When we beyond all precedent, from Britons bore the sway,—'Twas in the ship United States,Four and forty guns the rates,That she should rule, decreed the Fates,And brave Yankee boys.Decatur and his hardy tars were cruising on the deep,When off the Western Islands they to and fro did sweep,The Macedonian they espied,"Huzza! bravo!" Decatur cried,"We'll humble Britain's boasted pride,My brave Yankee boys."The decks were cleared, the hammocks stowed, the boatswain pipes all hands,The tompions out, the guns well sponged, the Captain now commands;The boys who for their country fight,Their words, "Free Trade and Sailor's Rights!"Three times they cheered with all their might,Those brave Yankee boys.Now chain-shot, grape, and langrage pierce through her oaken sides,And many a gallant sailor's blood runs purpling in the tides;While death flew nimbly o'er their decks,Some lost their legs, and some their necks,And Glory's wreath our ship be-decks,For brave Yankee boys.My boys, the proud St. George's Cross, the stripes above it wave,And busy are our gen'rous tars, the conquered foe to save,To Carden then, in tones so bland,Our Captain cries "Give me your hand,"Then of the ship who took commandBut brave Yankee boys?Our enemy lost her mizzen, her main and fore-topmast,For ev'ry shot with death was winged, which slew her men so fast,That they lost five to one in killed,And ten to one their blood was spilled,So Fate decreed and Heaven had willed,For brave Yankee boys.Then homeward steered the captive ship, now safe in port she lies,The old and young with rapture viewed our sailors' noble prize;Through seas of wine their health we'll drink,And wish them sweet-hearts, friends, and chink,Who 'fore they'd strike, will nobly sinkOur brave Yankee boys.

The twenty-fifth of October, that glorious happy day,When we beyond all precedent, from Britons bore the sway,—'Twas in the ship United States,Four and forty guns the rates,That she should rule, decreed the Fates,And brave Yankee boys.

Decatur and his hardy tars were cruising on the deep,When off the Western Islands they to and fro did sweep,The Macedonian they espied,"Huzza! bravo!" Decatur cried,"We'll humble Britain's boasted pride,My brave Yankee boys."

The decks were cleared, the hammocks stowed, the boatswain pipes all hands,The tompions out, the guns well sponged, the Captain now commands;The boys who for their country fight,Their words, "Free Trade and Sailor's Rights!"Three times they cheered with all their might,Those brave Yankee boys.

Now chain-shot, grape, and langrage pierce through her oaken sides,And many a gallant sailor's blood runs purpling in the tides;While death flew nimbly o'er their decks,Some lost their legs, and some their necks,And Glory's wreath our ship be-decks,For brave Yankee boys.

My boys, the proud St. George's Cross, the stripes above it wave,And busy are our gen'rous tars, the conquered foe to save,To Carden then, in tones so bland,Our Captain cries "Give me your hand,"Then of the ship who took commandBut brave Yankee boys?

Our enemy lost her mizzen, her main and fore-topmast,For ev'ry shot with death was winged, which slew her men so fast,That they lost five to one in killed,And ten to one their blood was spilled,So Fate decreed and Heaven had willed,For brave Yankee boys.

Then homeward steered the captive ship, now safe in port she lies,The old and young with rapture viewed our sailors' noble prize;Through seas of wine their health we'll drink,And wish them sweet-hearts, friends, and chink,Who 'fore they'd strike, will nobly sinkOur brave Yankee boys.

THE UNITED STATES AND MACEDONIAN

[October 25, 1812]

The banner of Freedom high floated unfurled,While the silver-tipt surges in low homage curled,Flashing bright round the bow of Decatur's brave bark,In contest, an "eagle"—in chasing, a "lark."The bold United States,Which four-and-forty rates,Will ne'er be known to yield—be known to yield or fly,Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."All canvas expanded to woo the coy gale,The ship cleared for action, in chase of a sail;The foemen in view, every bosom beats high,All eager for conquest, or ready to die.Now havoc stands ready, with optics of flame,And battle-hounds "strain on the start" for the game;The blood demons rise on the surge for their prey,While Pity, rejected, awaits the dread fray.The gay floating streamers of Britain appear,Waving light on the breeze as the stranger we near;And now could the quick-sighted Yankee discern"Macedonian," emblazoned at large on her stern.She waited our approach, and the contest began,But to waste ammunition is no Yankee plan;In awful suspense every match was withheld,While the bull-dogs of Britain incessantly yelled.Unawed by her thunders, alongside we came,While the foe seemed enwrapped in a mantle of flame;When, prompt to the word, such a flood we return,That Neptune, aghast, thought his trident would burn.Now the lightning of battle gleams horridly red,With a tempest of iron and hail-storm of lead;And our fire on the foe we so copiously poured,His mizzen and topmasts soon went by the board.So fierce and so bright did our flashes aspire,They thought that their cannon had set us on fire,"The Yankee's in flames!"—every British tar hears,And hails the false omen with three hearty cheers.In seventeen minutes they found their mistake,And were glad to surrender and fall in our wake;Her decks were with carnage and blood deluged o'er,Where welt'ring in blood lay an hundred and four.But though she was made so completely a wreck,With blood they had scarcely encrimsoned our deck;Only five valiant Yankees in the contest were slain,And our ship in five minutes was fitted again.Let Britain no longer lay claim to the seas,For the trident of Neptune is ours, if we please,While Hull and Decatur and Jones are our boast,We dare their whole navy to come on our coast.Rise, tars of Columbia!—and share in the fame,Which gilds Hull's, Decatur's, and Jones's bright name;Fill a bumper, and drink, "Here's success to the cause,But Decatur supremely deserves our applause."The bold United States,Which four-and-forty rates,Shall ne'er be known to yield—be known to yield or fly,Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

All canvas expanded to woo the coy gale,The ship cleared for action, in chase of a sail;The foemen in view, every bosom beats high,All eager for conquest, or ready to die.

Now havoc stands ready, with optics of flame,And battle-hounds "strain on the start" for the game;The blood demons rise on the surge for their prey,While Pity, rejected, awaits the dread fray.

The gay floating streamers of Britain appear,Waving light on the breeze as the stranger we near;And now could the quick-sighted Yankee discern"Macedonian," emblazoned at large on her stern.

She waited our approach, and the contest began,But to waste ammunition is no Yankee plan;In awful suspense every match was withheld,While the bull-dogs of Britain incessantly yelled.

Unawed by her thunders, alongside we came,While the foe seemed enwrapped in a mantle of flame;When, prompt to the word, such a flood we return,That Neptune, aghast, thought his trident would burn.

Now the lightning of battle gleams horridly red,With a tempest of iron and hail-storm of lead;And our fire on the foe we so copiously poured,His mizzen and topmasts soon went by the board.

So fierce and so bright did our flashes aspire,They thought that their cannon had set us on fire,"The Yankee's in flames!"—every British tar hears,And hails the false omen with three hearty cheers.

In seventeen minutes they found their mistake,And were glad to surrender and fall in our wake;Her decks were with carnage and blood deluged o'er,Where welt'ring in blood lay an hundred and four.

But though she was made so completely a wreck,With blood they had scarcely encrimsoned our deck;Only five valiant Yankees in the contest were slain,And our ship in five minutes was fitted again.

Let Britain no longer lay claim to the seas,For the trident of Neptune is ours, if we please,While Hull and Decatur and Jones are our boast,We dare their whole navy to come on our coast.

Rise, tars of Columbia!—and share in the fame,Which gilds Hull's, Decatur's, and Jones's bright name;Fill a bumper, and drink, "Here's success to the cause,But Decatur supremely deserves our applause."The bold United States,Which four-and-forty rates,Shall ne'er be known to yield—be known to yield or fly,Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

The United States was commanded by Captain Stephen Decatur, and just before she engaged the Macedonian an incident occurred which showed his crew's unbounded confidence in him.

JACK CREAMER

[October 25, 1812]

The boarding nettings are triced for fight;Pike and cutlass are shining bright;The boatswain's whistle pipes loud and shrill;Gunner and topman work with a will;Rough old sailor and reefer trimJest as they stand by the cannon grim;There's a fighting glint in Decatur's eye,And brave Old Glory floats out on high.But many a heart beats fast belowThe laughing lips as they near the foe;For the pluckiest knows, though no man quails,That the breath of death is filling the sails.Only one little face is wan;Only one childish mouth is drawn;One little heart is sad and soreTo the watchful eye of the Commodore.Little Jack Creamer, ten years old,In no purser's book or watch enrolled,Must mope or skulk while his shipmates fight,—No wonder his little face is white!"Why, Jack, old man, so blue and sad?Afraid of the music?" The face of the ladWith mingled shame and anger burns.Quick to the Commodore he turns:"I'm not a coward, but I think if you—Excuse me, Capt'n, I mean if you knew(I s'pose it's because I'm young and small)I'm not on the books! I'm no one at all!And as soon as this fighting work is done,And we get our prize-money, every oneHas his share of the plunder—Iget none.""And you're sure we shall take her?" "Sure? Why, sir,She's only a blessed Britisher!We'll take her easy enough, I bet;But glory's all that I'm going to get!""Glory! I doubt if I get more,If I get so much," said the Commodore;"But faith goes far in the race for fame,And down on the books shall go your name."Bravely the little seaman stoodTo his post while the scuppers ran with blood,While grizzled veterans looked and smiledAnd gathered new courage from the child;Till the enemy, crippled in pride and might,Struck his crimson flag and gave up the fight.Then little Jack Creamer stood once moreFace to face with the Commodore."You have got your glory," he said, "my lad,And money to make your sweetheart glad.Now, who may she be?" "My mother, sir;I want you to send the half to her.""And the rest?" Jack blushed and hung his head;"I'll buy some schoolin' with that," he said.Decatur laughed; then in graver mood:"The first is the better, but both are good.Your mother shall never know want while IHave a ship to sail, or a flag to fly;And schooling you'll have till all is blue,But little the lubbers can teach to you."MidshipmanCreamer's story is told—They did such things in the days of old,When faith and courage won sure reward,And the quarter-deck was not triply barred,To the forecastle hero; for men were men,And the Nation was close to its Maker then.James Jeffrey Roche.

But many a heart beats fast belowThe laughing lips as they near the foe;For the pluckiest knows, though no man quails,That the breath of death is filling the sails.Only one little face is wan;Only one childish mouth is drawn;One little heart is sad and soreTo the watchful eye of the Commodore.Little Jack Creamer, ten years old,In no purser's book or watch enrolled,Must mope or skulk while his shipmates fight,—No wonder his little face is white!

"Why, Jack, old man, so blue and sad?Afraid of the music?" The face of the ladWith mingled shame and anger burns.Quick to the Commodore he turns:"I'm not a coward, but I think if you—Excuse me, Capt'n, I mean if you knew(I s'pose it's because I'm young and small)I'm not on the books! I'm no one at all!And as soon as this fighting work is done,And we get our prize-money, every oneHas his share of the plunder—Iget none."

"And you're sure we shall take her?" "Sure? Why, sir,She's only a blessed Britisher!We'll take her easy enough, I bet;But glory's all that I'm going to get!""Glory! I doubt if I get more,If I get so much," said the Commodore;"But faith goes far in the race for fame,And down on the books shall go your name."

Bravely the little seaman stoodTo his post while the scuppers ran with blood,While grizzled veterans looked and smiledAnd gathered new courage from the child;Till the enemy, crippled in pride and might,Struck his crimson flag and gave up the fight.Then little Jack Creamer stood once moreFace to face with the Commodore.

"You have got your glory," he said, "my lad,And money to make your sweetheart glad.Now, who may she be?" "My mother, sir;I want you to send the half to her.""And the rest?" Jack blushed and hung his head;"I'll buy some schoolin' with that," he said.

Decatur laughed; then in graver mood:"The first is the better, but both are good.Your mother shall never know want while IHave a ship to sail, or a flag to fly;And schooling you'll have till all is blue,But little the lubbers can teach to you."

MidshipmanCreamer's story is told—They did such things in the days of old,When faith and courage won sure reward,And the quarter-deck was not triply barred,To the forecastle hero; for men were men,And the Nation was close to its Maker then.

James Jeffrey Roche.

Encouraged by these successes, Congress, on January 2, 1813, appropriated $2,500,000 to build four 74-gun ships and six 44-gun ships. England also took them to heart, and toward the end of the month the entire British fleet was sent to blockade the Atlantic coast.

YANKEE THUNDERS

[1813]

Britannia's gallant streamersFloat proudly o'er the tide,And fairly wave Columbia's stripes,In battle side by side.And ne'er did bolder seamen meet,Where ocean's surges pour;O'er the tide now they ride,While the bell'wing thunders roar,While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,And the bell'wing thunders roar.When Yankee meets the Briton,Whose blood congenial flows,By Heav'n created to be friends,By fortune rendered foes;Hard then must be the battle fray,Ere well the fight is o'er;Now they ride, side by side,While the bell'wing thunders roar,While her cannon's fire is flashing fast,And the bell'wing thunders roar.Still, still, for noble EnglandBold D'Acres' streamers fly;And for Columbia, gallant Hull'sAs proudly and as high;Now louder rings the battle din,And thick the volumes pour;Still they ride, side by side,While the bell'wing thunders roar,While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,And the bell'wing thunders roar.Why lulls Britannia's thunder,That waked the wat'ry war?Why stays the gallant Guerrière,Whose streamers waved so fair?That streamer drinks the ocean wave,That warrior's fight is o'er!Still they ride, side by side,While the bell'wing thunders roar,While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,And the bell'wing thunders roar.Hark! 'tis the Briton's lee gun!Ne'er bolder warrior kneeled!And ne'er to gallant marinersDid braver seamen yield.Proud be the sires, whose hardy boysThen fell to fight no more:With the brave, mid the wave;When the cannon's thunders roar,Their spirits then shall trim the blast,And swell the thunder's roar.Vain were the cheers of Britons,Their hearts did vainly swell,Where virtue, skill, and braveryWith gallant Morris fell.That heart so well in battle tried,Along the Moorish shore,And again o'er the main,When Columbia's thunders roar,Shall prove its Yankee spirit true,When Columbia's thunders roar.Hence be our floating bulwarkThose oaks our mountains yield;'Tis mighty Heaven's plain decree—Then take the wat'ry field!To ocean's farthest barrier thenYour whit'ning sail shall pour;Safe they'll ride o'er the tide,While Columbia's thunders roar,While her cannon's fire is flashing fast,And her Yankee thunders roar.

When Yankee meets the Briton,Whose blood congenial flows,By Heav'n created to be friends,By fortune rendered foes;Hard then must be the battle fray,Ere well the fight is o'er;Now they ride, side by side,While the bell'wing thunders roar,While her cannon's fire is flashing fast,And the bell'wing thunders roar.

Still, still, for noble EnglandBold D'Acres' streamers fly;And for Columbia, gallant Hull'sAs proudly and as high;Now louder rings the battle din,And thick the volumes pour;Still they ride, side by side,While the bell'wing thunders roar,While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,And the bell'wing thunders roar.

Why lulls Britannia's thunder,That waked the wat'ry war?Why stays the gallant Guerrière,Whose streamers waved so fair?That streamer drinks the ocean wave,That warrior's fight is o'er!Still they ride, side by side,While the bell'wing thunders roar,While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,And the bell'wing thunders roar.

Hark! 'tis the Briton's lee gun!Ne'er bolder warrior kneeled!And ne'er to gallant marinersDid braver seamen yield.Proud be the sires, whose hardy boysThen fell to fight no more:With the brave, mid the wave;When the cannon's thunders roar,Their spirits then shall trim the blast,And swell the thunder's roar.

Vain were the cheers of Britons,Their hearts did vainly swell,Where virtue, skill, and braveryWith gallant Morris fell.That heart so well in battle tried,Along the Moorish shore,And again o'er the main,When Columbia's thunders roar,Shall prove its Yankee spirit true,When Columbia's thunders roar.

Hence be our floating bulwarkThose oaks our mountains yield;'Tis mighty Heaven's plain decree—Then take the wat'ry field!To ocean's farthest barrier thenYour whit'ning sail shall pour;Safe they'll ride o'er the tide,While Columbia's thunders roar,While her cannon's fire is flashing fast,And her Yankee thunders roar.

On March 11, 1813, the little privateer schooner, General Armstrong, Captain Guy R. Champlin, was cruising off Surinam River, when she sighted a sail, and on investigation found it to be a large vessel, apparently a British privateer. Champlin bore down and endeavored to board. The stranger kept off, and, suddenly raising her port covers, disclosed herself as a British 44-gun frigate. For forty-five minutes the Americans stood to their guns and endeavored to dismast the enemy, then gradually drew away and escaped.

THE GENERAL ARMSTRONG

[March 11, 1813]

Come, all you sons of Liberty, that to the seas belong,It's worth your attention to listen to my song;The history of a privateer I will detail in full,That fought a "six-and-thirty" belonging to John Bull.The General Armstrong she is called, and sailèd from New York,With all our hearts undaunted, once more to try our luck;She was a noble vessel, a privateer of fame:She had a brave commander, George Champlin was his name.We stood unto the eastward, all with a favoring gale,In longitude of fifty we spied a lofty sail:Our mainsail being lower'd and foresail to repair,Our squaresail being set, my boys, the wind it provèd fair.We very soon perceivèd the lofty sail to beBearing down upon us while we lay under her lee;All hands we call'd, and sail did make, then splicèd the main-brace,Night coming on, we sail'd so fast, she soon gave up the chase.Then to Barbadoes we were bound, our course so well did steer;We cruisèd there for several days, and nothing did appear.'Twas on the 11th of March, to windward of Surinam,We spied a lofty ship, my boys, at anchor near the land;All hands we call'd to quarters, and down upon her bore,Thinking 'twas some merchant-ship then lying near the shore.She quickly weighèd anchor and from us did steer,And setting her top-gallant sail as if she did us fear,But soon we were alongside of her, and gave her a gun,Determinèd to fight, my boys, and not from her to run.We hoisted up the bloody flag and down upon her bore,If she did not strike, my boys, no quarters we would show her;Each man a brace of pistols, a boarding-pike and sword,We'll give her a broadside, my boys, before we do her board.All hands at their quarters lay, until we came alongside,And gave them three hearty cheers, their British courage tried.The lower ports she had shut in, the Armstrong to decoy,And quickly she her ports did show, to daunt each Yankee boy.The first broadside we gave them true, their colors shot away,Their topsail, haulyards, mizen rigging, main and mizen stay,Two ports we did knock into one, his starboard quarter tore,They overboard their wounded flung, while cannons loud did roar.She wore directly round, my boys, and piped all hands on deck,For fear that we would board and serve a Yankee trick;To board a six-and-thirty it was in vain to try,While the grape, round, and langrage, like hailstones they did fly.Brave Champlin on the quarter-deck so nobly gave command:"Fight on, my brave Americans, dismast her if you can."The round, grape, and star-shot so well did play,A musket-ball from the maintop brave Champlin low did lay.His wound was quickly dress'd, while he in his cabin lay;The doctor, while attending, these words he heard him say:"Our Yankee flag shall flourish," our noble captain cried,"Before that we do strike, my boys, we'll sink alongside."She was a six-and-thirty, and mounted forty-two,We fought her four glasses, what more then could we do;Till six brave seamen we had kill'd, which grievèd us full sore,And thirteen more wounded lay bleeding in their gore.Our foremast being wounded, and bowsprit likewise;Our lower rigging fore and aft, and headstay beside;Our haulyards, braces, bowling, and foretop sheet also,We found we could not fight her, boys, so from her we did go.Our foremast proving dangerous, we could not carry sail,Although we had it fish'd and welded with a chain;It grieved us to the heart to put up with such abuse,For this damn'd English frigate had surely spoil'd our cruise.Here's success attend brave Champlin, his officers and men,That fought with courage keen, my boys, our lives to defend;We fought with much superior force, what could we do more?Then haul'd our wind and stood again for Freedom's happy shore.

The General Armstrong she is called, and sailèd from New York,With all our hearts undaunted, once more to try our luck;She was a noble vessel, a privateer of fame:She had a brave commander, George Champlin was his name.

We stood unto the eastward, all with a favoring gale,In longitude of fifty we spied a lofty sail:Our mainsail being lower'd and foresail to repair,Our squaresail being set, my boys, the wind it provèd fair.

We very soon perceivèd the lofty sail to beBearing down upon us while we lay under her lee;All hands we call'd, and sail did make, then splicèd the main-brace,Night coming on, we sail'd so fast, she soon gave up the chase.

Then to Barbadoes we were bound, our course so well did steer;We cruisèd there for several days, and nothing did appear.'Twas on the 11th of March, to windward of Surinam,We spied a lofty ship, my boys, at anchor near the land;All hands we call'd to quarters, and down upon her bore,Thinking 'twas some merchant-ship then lying near the shore.

She quickly weighèd anchor and from us did steer,And setting her top-gallant sail as if she did us fear,But soon we were alongside of her, and gave her a gun,Determinèd to fight, my boys, and not from her to run.

We hoisted up the bloody flag and down upon her bore,If she did not strike, my boys, no quarters we would show her;Each man a brace of pistols, a boarding-pike and sword,We'll give her a broadside, my boys, before we do her board.

All hands at their quarters lay, until we came alongside,And gave them three hearty cheers, their British courage tried.The lower ports she had shut in, the Armstrong to decoy,And quickly she her ports did show, to daunt each Yankee boy.

The first broadside we gave them true, their colors shot away,Their topsail, haulyards, mizen rigging, main and mizen stay,Two ports we did knock into one, his starboard quarter tore,They overboard their wounded flung, while cannons loud did roar.

She wore directly round, my boys, and piped all hands on deck,For fear that we would board and serve a Yankee trick;To board a six-and-thirty it was in vain to try,While the grape, round, and langrage, like hailstones they did fly.

Brave Champlin on the quarter-deck so nobly gave command:"Fight on, my brave Americans, dismast her if you can."The round, grape, and star-shot so well did play,A musket-ball from the maintop brave Champlin low did lay.

His wound was quickly dress'd, while he in his cabin lay;The doctor, while attending, these words he heard him say:"Our Yankee flag shall flourish," our noble captain cried,"Before that we do strike, my boys, we'll sink alongside."

She was a six-and-thirty, and mounted forty-two,We fought her four glasses, what more then could we do;Till six brave seamen we had kill'd, which grievèd us full sore,And thirteen more wounded lay bleeding in their gore.

Our foremast being wounded, and bowsprit likewise;Our lower rigging fore and aft, and headstay beside;Our haulyards, braces, bowling, and foretop sheet also,We found we could not fight her, boys, so from her we did go.

Our foremast proving dangerous, we could not carry sail,Although we had it fish'd and welded with a chain;It grieved us to the heart to put up with such abuse,For this damn'd English frigate had surely spoil'd our cruise.

Here's success attend brave Champlin, his officers and men,That fought with courage keen, my boys, our lives to defend;We fought with much superior force, what could we do more?Then haul'd our wind and stood again for Freedom's happy shore.

On the land, the year opened badly with the disastrous defeat of an American column, under General Winchester, at Raisin River, Michigan; but on April 27 General Pike, at the head of fifteen hundred men, stormed and captured the British fort at York, now Toronto.

CAPTURE OF LITTLE YORK

[April 27, 1813]

When Britain, with envy and malice inflamed,Dared dispute the dear rights of Columbia's bless'd union,We thought of the time when our freedom we claim'd,And fought 'gainst oppression with fullest communion.Our foes on the ocean have been forced to yield,And fresh laurels we now gather up in the field.Freedom's flag on the wilds of the west is unfurl'd,And our foes seem to find their resistance delusion;For our eagle her arrows amongst them has hurl'dAnd their ranks of bold veterans fill'd with confusion.Our foes on the ocean, etc.On the lakes of the west, full of national pride,See our brave little fleet most triumphantly riding!And behold the brave tars on the fresh-water tide,In a noble commander,brave Chauncey, confiding.Our foes on the ocean, etc.Their deeds of proud valor shall long stand enroll'dOn the bright shining page of our national glory:And oft, in the deep winter's night, shall be toldThe exploits of the tars of American story.Our foes on the ocean, etc.Nor less shall the soldiers come in for their praise,Who engaged to accomplish the great expedition;And a monument Fame shall for them cheerily raise,And their deeds shall in history find repetition.Our foes on the ocean, etc.Let Britons still boast of their prowess and pluck;We care not a straw for their muskets and cannon.In the field we will beat them, unless they've the luckTo run from their foes like Tenedos and Shannon.Our foes on the ocean, etc.Our sweet little bull-dogs, they thunder'd away,And our sailors and soldiers the foe still kept mauling,Till they grew very sick of such tight Yankee play,And poor Sheaffe and his troops then ran away bawling.Our foes on the ocean, etc.But the rascals on malice quite fully were bent:And as from the fort they were cowardly going,In pursuance to what was at first their intent,The magazine they had resolved on up-blowing.Our foes on the ocean, etc.Two hundred brave soldiers there met with their death;And while for their country they nobly were dying,Full fifty bold Britons at once lost their breath,And with them in the air were their carcasses flying.Our foes on the ocean, etc.The brave General Pike there met with his end;But his virtues his country forever will cherish:And while o'er his grave fair Freedom shall bend,She will swear that his memory never shall perish.Our foes on the ocean, etc.Let the minions of Britain swarm over our coast;Columbians, all cowardly conduct disdaining,We'll teach the invaders how vain is their boast,And contend, whilst a drop of their blood is remaining.Our foes on the ocean, etc.Then, freemen, arise, and gird on your swords,And declare, while you still have the means of resistance,That you ne'er will give up for the threatening of words,Nor of arms, those dear rights which you prize as existence.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

Freedom's flag on the wilds of the west is unfurl'd,And our foes seem to find their resistance delusion;For our eagle her arrows amongst them has hurl'dAnd their ranks of bold veterans fill'd with confusion.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

On the lakes of the west, full of national pride,See our brave little fleet most triumphantly riding!And behold the brave tars on the fresh-water tide,In a noble commander,brave Chauncey, confiding.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

Their deeds of proud valor shall long stand enroll'dOn the bright shining page of our national glory:And oft, in the deep winter's night, shall be toldThe exploits of the tars of American story.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

Nor less shall the soldiers come in for their praise,Who engaged to accomplish the great expedition;And a monument Fame shall for them cheerily raise,And their deeds shall in history find repetition.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

Let Britons still boast of their prowess and pluck;We care not a straw for their muskets and cannon.In the field we will beat them, unless they've the luckTo run from their foes like Tenedos and Shannon.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

Our sweet little bull-dogs, they thunder'd away,And our sailors and soldiers the foe still kept mauling,Till they grew very sick of such tight Yankee play,And poor Sheaffe and his troops then ran away bawling.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

But the rascals on malice quite fully were bent:And as from the fort they were cowardly going,In pursuance to what was at first their intent,The magazine they had resolved on up-blowing.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

Two hundred brave soldiers there met with their death;And while for their country they nobly were dying,Full fifty bold Britons at once lost their breath,And with them in the air were their carcasses flying.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

The brave General Pike there met with his end;But his virtues his country forever will cherish:And while o'er his grave fair Freedom shall bend,She will swear that his memory never shall perish.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

Let the minions of Britain swarm over our coast;Columbians, all cowardly conduct disdaining,We'll teach the invaders how vain is their boast,And contend, whilst a drop of their blood is remaining.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

Then, freemen, arise, and gird on your swords,And declare, while you still have the means of resistance,That you ne'er will give up for the threatening of words,Nor of arms, those dear rights which you prize as existence.Our foes on the ocean, etc.

Forty of the enemy and more than two hundred Americans were killed or wounded by the explosion of a magazine, just as the place surrendered. General Pike was mortally wounded, and died with his head on the British flag which had been brought to him.

THE DEATH OF GENERAL PIKE

[April 27, 1813]

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