'Twas on the glorious dayWhen our valiant triple bandDrove the British troops awayFrom their strong and chosen stand;When the city York was taken,And the Bloody Cross hauled downFrom the walls of the townIts defenders had forsaken.The gallant Pike had movedA hurt foe to a spotA little more removedFrom the death-shower of the shot;And he himself was seatedOn the fragment of an oak,And to a captive spoke,Of the troops he had defeated.He was seated in a place,Not to shun the leaden rainHe had been the first to face,And now burned to brave again,But had chosen that positionTill the officer's returnThe truth who'd gone to learnOf the garrison's condition.When suddenly the groundWith a dread convulsion shook,And arose a frightful sound,And the sun was hid in smoke;And huge stones and rafters, drivenAthwart the heavy rack,Fell, fatal on their trackAs the thunderbolt of Heaven.Then two hundred men and more,Of our bravest and our best,Lay all ghastly in their gore,And the hero with the rest.On their folded arms they laid him;But he raised his dying breath:"On, men, avenge the deathOf your general!" They obeyed him.They obeyed. Three cheers they gave,Closed their scattered ranks, and on.Though their leader found a grave,Yet the hostile town was won.To a vessel straight they bore himOf the gallant Chauncey's fleet,And, the conquest complete,Spread the British flag before him.O'er his eyes the long, last nightWas already falling fast;But came back again the lightFor a moment; 'twas the last.With a victor's joy they fired,'Neath his head by signs he badeThe trophy should be laid;And, thus pillowed, Pike expired.Laughton Osborn.
'Twas on the glorious dayWhen our valiant triple bandDrove the British troops awayFrom their strong and chosen stand;When the city York was taken,And the Bloody Cross hauled downFrom the walls of the townIts defenders had forsaken.The gallant Pike had movedA hurt foe to a spotA little more removedFrom the death-shower of the shot;And he himself was seatedOn the fragment of an oak,And to a captive spoke,Of the troops he had defeated.He was seated in a place,Not to shun the leaden rainHe had been the first to face,And now burned to brave again,But had chosen that positionTill the officer's returnThe truth who'd gone to learnOf the garrison's condition.When suddenly the groundWith a dread convulsion shook,And arose a frightful sound,And the sun was hid in smoke;And huge stones and rafters, drivenAthwart the heavy rack,Fell, fatal on their trackAs the thunderbolt of Heaven.Then two hundred men and more,Of our bravest and our best,Lay all ghastly in their gore,And the hero with the rest.On their folded arms they laid him;But he raised his dying breath:"On, men, avenge the deathOf your general!" They obeyed him.They obeyed. Three cheers they gave,Closed their scattered ranks, and on.Though their leader found a grave,Yet the hostile town was won.To a vessel straight they bore himOf the gallant Chauncey's fleet,And, the conquest complete,Spread the British flag before him.O'er his eyes the long, last nightWas already falling fast;But came back again the lightFor a moment; 'twas the last.With a victor's joy they fired,'Neath his head by signs he badeThe trophy should be laid;And, thus pillowed, Pike expired.Laughton Osborn.
'Twas on the glorious dayWhen our valiant triple bandDrove the British troops awayFrom their strong and chosen stand;When the city York was taken,And the Bloody Cross hauled downFrom the walls of the townIts defenders had forsaken.
The gallant Pike had movedA hurt foe to a spotA little more removedFrom the death-shower of the shot;And he himself was seatedOn the fragment of an oak,And to a captive spoke,Of the troops he had defeated.
He was seated in a place,Not to shun the leaden rainHe had been the first to face,And now burned to brave again,But had chosen that positionTill the officer's returnThe truth who'd gone to learnOf the garrison's condition.
When suddenly the groundWith a dread convulsion shook,And arose a frightful sound,And the sun was hid in smoke;And huge stones and rafters, drivenAthwart the heavy rack,Fell, fatal on their trackAs the thunderbolt of Heaven.
Then two hundred men and more,Of our bravest and our best,Lay all ghastly in their gore,And the hero with the rest.On their folded arms they laid him;But he raised his dying breath:"On, men, avenge the deathOf your general!" They obeyed him.
They obeyed. Three cheers they gave,Closed their scattered ranks, and on.Though their leader found a grave,Yet the hostile town was won.To a vessel straight they bore himOf the gallant Chauncey's fleet,And, the conquest complete,Spread the British flag before him.
O'er his eyes the long, last nightWas already falling fast;But came back again the lightFor a moment; 'twas the last.With a victor's joy they fired,'Neath his head by signs he badeThe trophy should be laid;And, thus pillowed, Pike expired.
Laughton Osborn.
General William Henry Harrison, meanwhile, at the head of the western army, was besieged in Fort Meigs, at the mouth of the Maumee, by a large force of Indians and British. On May 1 the British made a determined assault, but were beaten off; a few days later, after a desperate battle with a relief column, the British raised the siege and retreated to Canada.
General William Henry Harrison, meanwhile, at the head of the western army, was besieged in Fort Meigs, at the mouth of the Maumee, by a large force of Indians and British. On May 1 the British made a determined assault, but were beaten off; a few days later, after a desperate battle with a relief column, the British raised the siege and retreated to Canada.
OLD FORT MEIGS
[April 28—May 9, 1813]
Oh! lonely is our old green fort,Where oft, in days of old,Our gallant soldiers bravely fought'Gainst savage allies bold;But with the change of years have pass'dThat unrelenting foe,Since we fought here with Harrison,A long time ago.It seems but yesterday I heard,From yonder thicket nigh,The unerring rifle's sharp report,The Indian's startling cry.Yon brooklet flowing at our feet,With crimson gore did flow,When we fought here with Harrison,A long time ago.The river rolls between its banks,As when of old we came,Each grassy path, each shady nook,Seems to me still the same;But we are scatter'd now, whose faithPledged here, through weal or woe,With Harrison our soil to guard,A long time ago.But many a soldier's lip is mute,And clouded many a brow,And hearts that beat for honor then,Have ceased their throbbing now.We ne'er shall meet again in lifeAs then we met, I trow,When we fought here with Harrison,A long time ago.
Oh! lonely is our old green fort,Where oft, in days of old,Our gallant soldiers bravely fought'Gainst savage allies bold;But with the change of years have pass'dThat unrelenting foe,Since we fought here with Harrison,A long time ago.It seems but yesterday I heard,From yonder thicket nigh,The unerring rifle's sharp report,The Indian's startling cry.Yon brooklet flowing at our feet,With crimson gore did flow,When we fought here with Harrison,A long time ago.The river rolls between its banks,As when of old we came,Each grassy path, each shady nook,Seems to me still the same;But we are scatter'd now, whose faithPledged here, through weal or woe,With Harrison our soil to guard,A long time ago.But many a soldier's lip is mute,And clouded many a brow,And hearts that beat for honor then,Have ceased their throbbing now.We ne'er shall meet again in lifeAs then we met, I trow,When we fought here with Harrison,A long time ago.
Oh! lonely is our old green fort,Where oft, in days of old,Our gallant soldiers bravely fought'Gainst savage allies bold;But with the change of years have pass'dThat unrelenting foe,Since we fought here with Harrison,A long time ago.
It seems but yesterday I heard,From yonder thicket nigh,The unerring rifle's sharp report,The Indian's startling cry.Yon brooklet flowing at our feet,With crimson gore did flow,When we fought here with Harrison,A long time ago.
The river rolls between its banks,As when of old we came,Each grassy path, each shady nook,Seems to me still the same;But we are scatter'd now, whose faithPledged here, through weal or woe,With Harrison our soil to guard,A long time ago.
But many a soldier's lip is mute,And clouded many a brow,And hearts that beat for honor then,Have ceased their throbbing now.We ne'er shall meet again in lifeAs then we met, I trow,When we fought here with Harrison,A long time ago.
The remarkable list of victories on the ocean was soon to be broken, for on June 1, 1813, the 36-gun frigate, Chesapeake, was defeated and captured by the British 38-gun frigate, Shannon.
The remarkable list of victories on the ocean was soon to be broken, for on June 1, 1813, the 36-gun frigate, Chesapeake, was defeated and captured by the British 38-gun frigate, Shannon.
THE SHANNON AND THE CHESAPEAKE
[June 1, 1813]
The captain of the Shannon came sailing up the bay,A reeling wind flung out behind his pennons bright and gay;His cannon crashed a challenge; the smoke that hid the seaWas driven hard to windward and drifted back to lee.The captain of the Shannon sent word into the town:Was Lawrence there, and would he dare to sail his frigate downAnd meet him at the harbor's mouth and fight him, gun to gun,For honor's sake, with pride at stake, until the fight was won?Now, long the gallant Lawrence had scoured the bitter main;With many a scar and wound of war his ship was home again;His crew, relieved from service, were scattered far and wide,And scarcely one, his duty done, had lingered by his side.But to refuse the challenge? Could he outlive the shame?Brave men and true, but deadly few, he gathered to his fame.Once more the great ship Chesapeake prepared her for the fight,—"I'll bring the foe to town in tow," he said, "before to-night!"High on the hills of Hingham that overlooked the shore,To watch the fray and hope and pray, for they could do no more,The children of the country watched the children of the seaWhen the smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back to lee."How can he fight," they whispered, "with only half a crew,Though they be rare to do and dare, yet what can brave men do?"But when the Chesapeake came down, the Stars and Stripes on high,Stilled was each fear, and cheer on cheer resounded to the sky.The Captain of the Shannon, he swore both long and loud:"This victory, where'er it be, shall make two nations proud!Now onward to this victory or downward to defeat!A sailor's life is sweet with strife, a sailor's death as sweet."And as when lightnings rend the sky and gloomy thunders roar,And crashing surge plays devil's dirge upon the stricken shore,With thunder and with sheets of flame the two ships rang with shot,And every gun burst forth a sun of iron crimson-hot.And twice they lashed together and twice they tore apart,And iron balls burst wooden walls and pierced each oaken heart.Still from the hills of Hingham men watched with hopes and fears,While all the bay was torn that day with shot that rained like tears.The tall masts of the Chesapeake went groaning by the board;The Shannon's spars were weak with scars when Broke cast down his sword;"Now woe," he cried, "to England, and shame and woe to me!"The smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back to lee."Give them one breaking broadside more," he cried, "before we strike!"But one grim ball that ruined all for hope and home alikeLaid Lawrence low in glory, yet from his pallid lipRang to the land his last command: "Boys, don't give up the ship!"*****The wounded wept like women when they hauled her ensign down.Men's cheeks were pale as with the tale from Hingham to the townThey hurried in swift silence, while toward the eastern nightThe victor bore away from shore and vanished out of sight.Hail to the great ship Chesapeake! Hail to the hero braveWho fought her fast, and loved her last, and shared her sudden grave!And glory be to those that died for all eternity;They lie apart at the mother-heart of God's eternal sea.Thomas Tracy Bouvé.
The captain of the Shannon came sailing up the bay,A reeling wind flung out behind his pennons bright and gay;His cannon crashed a challenge; the smoke that hid the seaWas driven hard to windward and drifted back to lee.The captain of the Shannon sent word into the town:Was Lawrence there, and would he dare to sail his frigate downAnd meet him at the harbor's mouth and fight him, gun to gun,For honor's sake, with pride at stake, until the fight was won?Now, long the gallant Lawrence had scoured the bitter main;With many a scar and wound of war his ship was home again;His crew, relieved from service, were scattered far and wide,And scarcely one, his duty done, had lingered by his side.But to refuse the challenge? Could he outlive the shame?Brave men and true, but deadly few, he gathered to his fame.Once more the great ship Chesapeake prepared her for the fight,—"I'll bring the foe to town in tow," he said, "before to-night!"High on the hills of Hingham that overlooked the shore,To watch the fray and hope and pray, for they could do no more,The children of the country watched the children of the seaWhen the smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back to lee."How can he fight," they whispered, "with only half a crew,Though they be rare to do and dare, yet what can brave men do?"But when the Chesapeake came down, the Stars and Stripes on high,Stilled was each fear, and cheer on cheer resounded to the sky.The Captain of the Shannon, he swore both long and loud:"This victory, where'er it be, shall make two nations proud!Now onward to this victory or downward to defeat!A sailor's life is sweet with strife, a sailor's death as sweet."And as when lightnings rend the sky and gloomy thunders roar,And crashing surge plays devil's dirge upon the stricken shore,With thunder and with sheets of flame the two ships rang with shot,And every gun burst forth a sun of iron crimson-hot.And twice they lashed together and twice they tore apart,And iron balls burst wooden walls and pierced each oaken heart.Still from the hills of Hingham men watched with hopes and fears,While all the bay was torn that day with shot that rained like tears.The tall masts of the Chesapeake went groaning by the board;The Shannon's spars were weak with scars when Broke cast down his sword;"Now woe," he cried, "to England, and shame and woe to me!"The smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back to lee."Give them one breaking broadside more," he cried, "before we strike!"But one grim ball that ruined all for hope and home alikeLaid Lawrence low in glory, yet from his pallid lipRang to the land his last command: "Boys, don't give up the ship!"*****The wounded wept like women when they hauled her ensign down.Men's cheeks were pale as with the tale from Hingham to the townThey hurried in swift silence, while toward the eastern nightThe victor bore away from shore and vanished out of sight.Hail to the great ship Chesapeake! Hail to the hero braveWho fought her fast, and loved her last, and shared her sudden grave!And glory be to those that died for all eternity;They lie apart at the mother-heart of God's eternal sea.Thomas Tracy Bouvé.
The captain of the Shannon came sailing up the bay,A reeling wind flung out behind his pennons bright and gay;His cannon crashed a challenge; the smoke that hid the seaWas driven hard to windward and drifted back to lee.
The captain of the Shannon sent word into the town:Was Lawrence there, and would he dare to sail his frigate downAnd meet him at the harbor's mouth and fight him, gun to gun,For honor's sake, with pride at stake, until the fight was won?
Now, long the gallant Lawrence had scoured the bitter main;With many a scar and wound of war his ship was home again;His crew, relieved from service, were scattered far and wide,And scarcely one, his duty done, had lingered by his side.
But to refuse the challenge? Could he outlive the shame?Brave men and true, but deadly few, he gathered to his fame.Once more the great ship Chesapeake prepared her for the fight,—"I'll bring the foe to town in tow," he said, "before to-night!"
High on the hills of Hingham that overlooked the shore,To watch the fray and hope and pray, for they could do no more,The children of the country watched the children of the seaWhen the smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back to lee.
"How can he fight," they whispered, "with only half a crew,Though they be rare to do and dare, yet what can brave men do?"But when the Chesapeake came down, the Stars and Stripes on high,Stilled was each fear, and cheer on cheer resounded to the sky.
The Captain of the Shannon, he swore both long and loud:"This victory, where'er it be, shall make two nations proud!Now onward to this victory or downward to defeat!A sailor's life is sweet with strife, a sailor's death as sweet."
And as when lightnings rend the sky and gloomy thunders roar,And crashing surge plays devil's dirge upon the stricken shore,With thunder and with sheets of flame the two ships rang with shot,And every gun burst forth a sun of iron crimson-hot.
And twice they lashed together and twice they tore apart,And iron balls burst wooden walls and pierced each oaken heart.Still from the hills of Hingham men watched with hopes and fears,While all the bay was torn that day with shot that rained like tears.
The tall masts of the Chesapeake went groaning by the board;The Shannon's spars were weak with scars when Broke cast down his sword;"Now woe," he cried, "to England, and shame and woe to me!"The smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back to lee.
"Give them one breaking broadside more," he cried, "before we strike!"But one grim ball that ruined all for hope and home alikeLaid Lawrence low in glory, yet from his pallid lipRang to the land his last command: "Boys, don't give up the ship!"
*****
The wounded wept like women when they hauled her ensign down.Men's cheeks were pale as with the tale from Hingham to the townThey hurried in swift silence, while toward the eastern nightThe victor bore away from shore and vanished out of sight.
Hail to the great ship Chesapeake! Hail to the hero braveWho fought her fast, and loved her last, and shared her sudden grave!And glory be to those that died for all eternity;They lie apart at the mother-heart of God's eternal sea.
Thomas Tracy Bouvé.
A British versifier celebrated the victory by composing a ballad in imitation of the famous one about the Constitution and Guerrière.
A British versifier celebrated the victory by composing a ballad in imitation of the famous one about the Constitution and Guerrière.
CHESAPEAKE AND SHANNON
[June 1, 1813]
The Chesapeake so boldOut of Boston, I've been told,Came to take a British FrigateNeat and handy O!While the people of the portFlocked out to see the sport,With their music playingYankee Doodle Dandy O!Now the British Frigate's nameWhich for the purpose cameOf cooling Yankee courageNeat and handy O!Was the Shannon, Captain Broke,Whose crew were heart of oak,And for the fighting were confessedTo be the dandy O!The engagement scarce begunEre they flinched from their guns,Which at first they thought of workingNeat and handy O!The bold Broke he waved his sword,Crying, "Now, my lads, on board,And we'll stop their playingYankee Doodle Dandy O!"They no sooner heard the wordThan they quickly rushed aboardAnd hauled down the Yankee ensignNeat and handy O!Notwithstanding all their brag,Now the glorious British flagAt the Yankee's mizzen-peakWas quite the dandy O!Successful Broke to you,And your officers and crew,Who on board the Shannon frigateFought so handy O!And may it ever proveThat in fighting as in loveThe true British tar is the dandy O!
The Chesapeake so boldOut of Boston, I've been told,Came to take a British FrigateNeat and handy O!While the people of the portFlocked out to see the sport,With their music playingYankee Doodle Dandy O!Now the British Frigate's nameWhich for the purpose cameOf cooling Yankee courageNeat and handy O!Was the Shannon, Captain Broke,Whose crew were heart of oak,And for the fighting were confessedTo be the dandy O!The engagement scarce begunEre they flinched from their guns,Which at first they thought of workingNeat and handy O!The bold Broke he waved his sword,Crying, "Now, my lads, on board,And we'll stop their playingYankee Doodle Dandy O!"They no sooner heard the wordThan they quickly rushed aboardAnd hauled down the Yankee ensignNeat and handy O!Notwithstanding all their brag,Now the glorious British flagAt the Yankee's mizzen-peakWas quite the dandy O!Successful Broke to you,And your officers and crew,Who on board the Shannon frigateFought so handy O!And may it ever proveThat in fighting as in loveThe true British tar is the dandy O!
The Chesapeake so boldOut of Boston, I've been told,Came to take a British FrigateNeat and handy O!While the people of the portFlocked out to see the sport,With their music playingYankee Doodle Dandy O!
Now the British Frigate's nameWhich for the purpose cameOf cooling Yankee courageNeat and handy O!Was the Shannon, Captain Broke,Whose crew were heart of oak,And for the fighting were confessedTo be the dandy O!
The engagement scarce begunEre they flinched from their guns,Which at first they thought of workingNeat and handy O!The bold Broke he waved his sword,Crying, "Now, my lads, on board,And we'll stop their playingYankee Doodle Dandy O!"
They no sooner heard the wordThan they quickly rushed aboardAnd hauled down the Yankee ensignNeat and handy O!Notwithstanding all their brag,Now the glorious British flagAt the Yankee's mizzen-peakWas quite the dandy O!
Successful Broke to you,And your officers and crew,Who on board the Shannon frigateFought so handy O!And may it ever proveThat in fighting as in loveThe true British tar is the dandy O!
James Lawrence, commander of the Chesapeake, had been fatally wounded early in the action. Until the last, he kept crying from the cockpit, "Keep the guns going! Fight her till she strikes or sinks!" His last words were the famous, "Don't give up the ship!"
James Lawrence, commander of the Chesapeake, had been fatally wounded early in the action. Until the last, he kept crying from the cockpit, "Keep the guns going! Fight her till she strikes or sinks!" His last words were the famous, "Don't give up the ship!"
DEFEAT AND VICTORY
[June 1, 1813]
Through the clangor of the cannon,Through the combat's wreck and reek,Answer to th' o'ermastering ShannonThunders from the Chesapeake:Gallant Lawrence, wounded, dying,Speaks with still unconquered lipEre the bitter draught he drinks:Keep the Flag flying!Fight her till she strikes or sinks!Don't give up the ship!Still that voice is sounding o'er us,So bold Perry heard it call;Farragut has joined its chorus;Porter, Dewey, Wainwright—allHeard the voice of duty crying;Deathless word from dauntless lipThat our past and future links:Keep the Flag flying!Fight her till she strikes or sinks!Don't give up the ship!Wallace Rice.
Through the clangor of the cannon,Through the combat's wreck and reek,Answer to th' o'ermastering ShannonThunders from the Chesapeake:Gallant Lawrence, wounded, dying,Speaks with still unconquered lipEre the bitter draught he drinks:Keep the Flag flying!Fight her till she strikes or sinks!Don't give up the ship!Still that voice is sounding o'er us,So bold Perry heard it call;Farragut has joined its chorus;Porter, Dewey, Wainwright—allHeard the voice of duty crying;Deathless word from dauntless lipThat our past and future links:Keep the Flag flying!Fight her till she strikes or sinks!Don't give up the ship!Wallace Rice.
Through the clangor of the cannon,Through the combat's wreck and reek,Answer to th' o'ermastering ShannonThunders from the Chesapeake:Gallant Lawrence, wounded, dying,Speaks with still unconquered lipEre the bitter draught he drinks:Keep the Flag flying!Fight her till she strikes or sinks!Don't give up the ship!
Still that voice is sounding o'er us,So bold Perry heard it call;Farragut has joined its chorus;Porter, Dewey, Wainwright—allHeard the voice of duty crying;Deathless word from dauntless lipThat our past and future links:Keep the Flag flying!Fight her till she strikes or sinks!Don't give up the ship!
Wallace Rice.
Another action which resulted very differently was that between the American 16-gun schooner, Enterprise, and the British 14-gun brig, Boxer. The ships came together off Monhegan on September 5, 1813, and after a fierce fight lasting an hour, the Englishman surrendered.
Another action which resulted very differently was that between the American 16-gun schooner, Enterprise, and the British 14-gun brig, Boxer. The ships came together off Monhegan on September 5, 1813, and after a fierce fight lasting an hour, the Englishman surrendered.
ENTERPRISE AND BOXER
[September 5, 1813]
Again Columbia's stripes, unfurl'd,Have testified before the world,How brave are those who wear 'em;The foe has now been taught againHis streamers cannot shade the mainWhile Yankees live to share 'em.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill!The brave are very generous stillBut teach the foes submission:Now twice three times his flag we've gain'd,And more, much more can be obtain'dUpon the same condition.The gallant Enterprise her name,A vessel erst of little fame,Had sail'd and caught the foe, sirs;'Twas hers the glory and the gain,To meet the Boxer on the main,And bring her home in tow, sirs.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.Fierce lightnings gleam and thunders roar,While round and grape in torrents pour,And echo through the skies, sirs;When minutes forty-five had flown,Behold the Briton's colors down!—She's yielded up a prize, sirs.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.The victory gain'd, we count the cost,We mourn, indeed, a hero lost!Who nobly fell, we know, sirs;But Burrows, we with Lawrence find,Has left a living name behind,Much honor'd by the foe, sirs.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.And while we notice deeds of fame,In which the gallant honors claim;As heroes of our story,The name of Blyth a meed demands,Whose tomb is deck'd by freemen's hands,Who well deserve the glory.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.Then, while we fill the sparkling glass,And cause it cheerly round to pass,In social hours assembled;Be Hull, Decatur, Bainbridge, Jones,Lawrence and Burrows—Victory's sons,With gratitude remember'd.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.
Again Columbia's stripes, unfurl'd,Have testified before the world,How brave are those who wear 'em;The foe has now been taught againHis streamers cannot shade the mainWhile Yankees live to share 'em.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill!The brave are very generous stillBut teach the foes submission:Now twice three times his flag we've gain'd,And more, much more can be obtain'dUpon the same condition.The gallant Enterprise her name,A vessel erst of little fame,Had sail'd and caught the foe, sirs;'Twas hers the glory and the gain,To meet the Boxer on the main,And bring her home in tow, sirs.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.Fierce lightnings gleam and thunders roar,While round and grape in torrents pour,And echo through the skies, sirs;When minutes forty-five had flown,Behold the Briton's colors down!—She's yielded up a prize, sirs.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.The victory gain'd, we count the cost,We mourn, indeed, a hero lost!Who nobly fell, we know, sirs;But Burrows, we with Lawrence find,Has left a living name behind,Much honor'd by the foe, sirs.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.And while we notice deeds of fame,In which the gallant honors claim;As heroes of our story,The name of Blyth a meed demands,Whose tomb is deck'd by freemen's hands,Who well deserve the glory.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.Then, while we fill the sparkling glass,And cause it cheerly round to pass,In social hours assembled;Be Hull, Decatur, Bainbridge, Jones,Lawrence and Burrows—Victory's sons,With gratitude remember'd.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.
Again Columbia's stripes, unfurl'd,Have testified before the world,How brave are those who wear 'em;The foe has now been taught againHis streamers cannot shade the mainWhile Yankees live to share 'em.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill!The brave are very generous stillBut teach the foes submission:Now twice three times his flag we've gain'd,And more, much more can be obtain'dUpon the same condition.
The gallant Enterprise her name,A vessel erst of little fame,Had sail'd and caught the foe, sirs;'Twas hers the glory and the gain,To meet the Boxer on the main,And bring her home in tow, sirs.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.
Fierce lightnings gleam and thunders roar,While round and grape in torrents pour,And echo through the skies, sirs;When minutes forty-five had flown,Behold the Briton's colors down!—She's yielded up a prize, sirs.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.
The victory gain'd, we count the cost,We mourn, indeed, a hero lost!Who nobly fell, we know, sirs;But Burrows, we with Lawrence find,Has left a living name behind,Much honor'd by the foe, sirs.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.
And while we notice deeds of fame,In which the gallant honors claim;As heroes of our story,The name of Blyth a meed demands,Whose tomb is deck'd by freemen's hands,Who well deserve the glory.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.
Then, while we fill the sparkling glass,And cause it cheerly round to pass,In social hours assembled;Be Hull, Decatur, Bainbridge, Jones,Lawrence and Burrows—Victory's sons,With gratitude remember'd.Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.
This little victory was soon overshadowed by a far more brilliant and important one on Lake Erie, where, on September 10, 1813, Oliver Hazard Perry, in command of a hastily constructed fleet of nine ships, defeated and captured a British squadron of superior strength.
This little victory was soon overshadowed by a far more brilliant and important one on Lake Erie, where, on September 10, 1813, Oliver Hazard Perry, in command of a hastily constructed fleet of nine ships, defeated and captured a British squadron of superior strength.
PERRY'S VICTORY
[September 10, 1813]
We sailed to and fro in Erie's broad lake,To find British bullies or get into their wake,When we hoisted our canvas with true Yankee speed,And the brave Captain Perry our squadron did lead.We sailed through the lake, boys, in search of the foe,In the cause of Columbia our brav'ry to show,To be equal in combat was all our delight,As we wished the proud Britons to know we could fight.And whether like Yeo, boys, they'd taken affright,We could see not, nor find them by day or by night;So cruising we went in a glorious cause,In defence of our rights, our freedom, and laws.At length to our liking, six sails hove in view,Huzzah! says brave Perry, huzzah! says his crew,And then for the chase, boys, with our brave little crew,We fell in with the bullies and gave them "burgoo."Though the force was unequal, determined to fight,We brought them to action before it was night;We let loose our thunder, our bullets did fly,"Now give them your shot, boys," our commander did cry.We gave them a broadside, our cannon to try,"Well done," says brave Perry, "for quarter they'll cry,Shot well home, my brave boys, they shortly shall see,That quite brave as they are, still braver are we."Then we drew up our squadron, each man full of fight,And put the proud Britons in a terrible plight,The brave Perry's movements will prove fully as bold,As the fam'd Admiral Nelson's prowess of old.The conflict was sharp, boys, each man to his gun,For our country, her glory, the vict'ry was won,So six sail (the whole fleet) was our fortune to take,Here's a health to brave Perry, who governs the Lake.
We sailed to and fro in Erie's broad lake,To find British bullies or get into their wake,When we hoisted our canvas with true Yankee speed,And the brave Captain Perry our squadron did lead.We sailed through the lake, boys, in search of the foe,In the cause of Columbia our brav'ry to show,To be equal in combat was all our delight,As we wished the proud Britons to know we could fight.And whether like Yeo, boys, they'd taken affright,We could see not, nor find them by day or by night;So cruising we went in a glorious cause,In defence of our rights, our freedom, and laws.At length to our liking, six sails hove in view,Huzzah! says brave Perry, huzzah! says his crew,And then for the chase, boys, with our brave little crew,We fell in with the bullies and gave them "burgoo."Though the force was unequal, determined to fight,We brought them to action before it was night;We let loose our thunder, our bullets did fly,"Now give them your shot, boys," our commander did cry.We gave them a broadside, our cannon to try,"Well done," says brave Perry, "for quarter they'll cry,Shot well home, my brave boys, they shortly shall see,That quite brave as they are, still braver are we."Then we drew up our squadron, each man full of fight,And put the proud Britons in a terrible plight,The brave Perry's movements will prove fully as bold,As the fam'd Admiral Nelson's prowess of old.The conflict was sharp, boys, each man to his gun,For our country, her glory, the vict'ry was won,So six sail (the whole fleet) was our fortune to take,Here's a health to brave Perry, who governs the Lake.
We sailed to and fro in Erie's broad lake,To find British bullies or get into their wake,When we hoisted our canvas with true Yankee speed,And the brave Captain Perry our squadron did lead.
We sailed through the lake, boys, in search of the foe,In the cause of Columbia our brav'ry to show,To be equal in combat was all our delight,As we wished the proud Britons to know we could fight.
And whether like Yeo, boys, they'd taken affright,We could see not, nor find them by day or by night;So cruising we went in a glorious cause,In defence of our rights, our freedom, and laws.
At length to our liking, six sails hove in view,Huzzah! says brave Perry, huzzah! says his crew,And then for the chase, boys, with our brave little crew,We fell in with the bullies and gave them "burgoo."
Though the force was unequal, determined to fight,We brought them to action before it was night;We let loose our thunder, our bullets did fly,"Now give them your shot, boys," our commander did cry.
We gave them a broadside, our cannon to try,"Well done," says brave Perry, "for quarter they'll cry,Shot well home, my brave boys, they shortly shall see,That quite brave as they are, still braver are we."
Then we drew up our squadron, each man full of fight,And put the proud Britons in a terrible plight,The brave Perry's movements will prove fully as bold,As the fam'd Admiral Nelson's prowess of old.
The conflict was sharp, boys, each man to his gun,For our country, her glory, the vict'ry was won,So six sail (the whole fleet) was our fortune to take,Here's a health to brave Perry, who governs the Lake.
THE BATTLE OF ERIE
[September 10, 1813]
Avast, honest Jack! now, before you get mellow,Come tip us that stave just, my hearty old fellow,'Bout the young commodore, and his fresh-water crew,Who keelhaul'd the Britons, and captured a few."'Twas just at sunrise, and a glorious day,Our squadron at anchor snug in Put-in-Bay,When we saw the bold Britons, and cleared for a bout,Instead of put in, by the Lord we put out."Up went union-jack, never up there before,'Don't give up the ship' was the motto it bore;And as soon as that motto our gallant lads saw,They thought of their Lawrence, and shouted huzza!"Oh! then it would have raised your hat three inches higher,To see how we dash'd in among them like fire!The Lawrence went first, and the rest as they could,And a long time the brunt of the action she stood."'Twas peppering work,—fire, fury, and smoke,And groans that from wounded lads, spite of 'em, broke.The water grew red round our ship as she lay,Though 'twas never before so till that bloody day."They fell all around me like spars in a gale;The shot made a sieve of each rag of a sail;And out of our crew scarce a dozen remain'd;But these gallant tars still the battle maintain'd."'Twas then our commander—God bless his young heart—Thought it best from his well-peppered ship to depart,And bring up the rest who were tugging behind—For why—they were sadly in want of a wind."So to Yarnall he gave the command of his ship,And set out, like a lark, on this desperate trip,In a small open yawl, right through their whole fleet,Who with many a broadside our cockboat did greet."I steer'd her and damme if every inchOf these timbers of mine at each crack didn't flinch:But our tight little commodore, cool and serene,To stir ne'er a muscle by any was seen."Whole volleys of muskets were levell'd at him,But the devil a one ever grazed e'en a limb,Though he stood up aloft in the stern of the boat,Till the crew pull'd him down by the skirt of his coat."At last, through Heaven's mercy, we reached t'other ship,And the wind springing up, we gave her the whip,And run down their line, boys, through thick and through thin,And bother'd their crews with a horrible din."Then starboard and larboard, and this way and that,We bang'd them and raked them, and laid their masts flat,Till, one after t'other, they haul'd down their flag,And an end, for that time, put to Johnny Bull's brag."The Detroit, and Queen Charlotte, and Lady Prevost,Not able to fight or run, gave up the ghost:And not one of them all from our grapplings got free,Though we'd fifty-four guns, and they just sixty-three."Smite my limbs! but they all got their bellies full then,And found what it was, boys, to buckle with men,Who fight, or, what's just the same, think that they fightFor their country's free trade and their own native right."Now give us a bumper to Elliott and thoseWho came up, in good time, to belabor our foes:To our fresh-water sailors we'll toss off one more,And a dozen, at least, to our young commodore."And though Britons may brag of their ruling the ocean,And that sort of thing, by the Lord, I've a notion,I'll bet all I'm worth—who takes it—who takes?Though they're lords of the sea, we'll be lords of the lakes."
Avast, honest Jack! now, before you get mellow,Come tip us that stave just, my hearty old fellow,'Bout the young commodore, and his fresh-water crew,Who keelhaul'd the Britons, and captured a few."'Twas just at sunrise, and a glorious day,Our squadron at anchor snug in Put-in-Bay,When we saw the bold Britons, and cleared for a bout,Instead of put in, by the Lord we put out."Up went union-jack, never up there before,'Don't give up the ship' was the motto it bore;And as soon as that motto our gallant lads saw,They thought of their Lawrence, and shouted huzza!"Oh! then it would have raised your hat three inches higher,To see how we dash'd in among them like fire!The Lawrence went first, and the rest as they could,And a long time the brunt of the action she stood."'Twas peppering work,—fire, fury, and smoke,And groans that from wounded lads, spite of 'em, broke.The water grew red round our ship as she lay,Though 'twas never before so till that bloody day."They fell all around me like spars in a gale;The shot made a sieve of each rag of a sail;And out of our crew scarce a dozen remain'd;But these gallant tars still the battle maintain'd."'Twas then our commander—God bless his young heart—Thought it best from his well-peppered ship to depart,And bring up the rest who were tugging behind—For why—they were sadly in want of a wind."So to Yarnall he gave the command of his ship,And set out, like a lark, on this desperate trip,In a small open yawl, right through their whole fleet,Who with many a broadside our cockboat did greet."I steer'd her and damme if every inchOf these timbers of mine at each crack didn't flinch:But our tight little commodore, cool and serene,To stir ne'er a muscle by any was seen."Whole volleys of muskets were levell'd at him,But the devil a one ever grazed e'en a limb,Though he stood up aloft in the stern of the boat,Till the crew pull'd him down by the skirt of his coat."At last, through Heaven's mercy, we reached t'other ship,And the wind springing up, we gave her the whip,And run down their line, boys, through thick and through thin,And bother'd their crews with a horrible din."Then starboard and larboard, and this way and that,We bang'd them and raked them, and laid their masts flat,Till, one after t'other, they haul'd down their flag,And an end, for that time, put to Johnny Bull's brag."The Detroit, and Queen Charlotte, and Lady Prevost,Not able to fight or run, gave up the ghost:And not one of them all from our grapplings got free,Though we'd fifty-four guns, and they just sixty-three."Smite my limbs! but they all got their bellies full then,And found what it was, boys, to buckle with men,Who fight, or, what's just the same, think that they fightFor their country's free trade and their own native right."Now give us a bumper to Elliott and thoseWho came up, in good time, to belabor our foes:To our fresh-water sailors we'll toss off one more,And a dozen, at least, to our young commodore."And though Britons may brag of their ruling the ocean,And that sort of thing, by the Lord, I've a notion,I'll bet all I'm worth—who takes it—who takes?Though they're lords of the sea, we'll be lords of the lakes."
Avast, honest Jack! now, before you get mellow,Come tip us that stave just, my hearty old fellow,'Bout the young commodore, and his fresh-water crew,Who keelhaul'd the Britons, and captured a few.
"'Twas just at sunrise, and a glorious day,Our squadron at anchor snug in Put-in-Bay,When we saw the bold Britons, and cleared for a bout,Instead of put in, by the Lord we put out.
"Up went union-jack, never up there before,'Don't give up the ship' was the motto it bore;And as soon as that motto our gallant lads saw,They thought of their Lawrence, and shouted huzza!
"Oh! then it would have raised your hat three inches higher,To see how we dash'd in among them like fire!The Lawrence went first, and the rest as they could,And a long time the brunt of the action she stood.
"'Twas peppering work,—fire, fury, and smoke,And groans that from wounded lads, spite of 'em, broke.The water grew red round our ship as she lay,Though 'twas never before so till that bloody day.
"They fell all around me like spars in a gale;The shot made a sieve of each rag of a sail;And out of our crew scarce a dozen remain'd;But these gallant tars still the battle maintain'd.
"'Twas then our commander—God bless his young heart—Thought it best from his well-peppered ship to depart,And bring up the rest who were tugging behind—For why—they were sadly in want of a wind.
"So to Yarnall he gave the command of his ship,And set out, like a lark, on this desperate trip,In a small open yawl, right through their whole fleet,Who with many a broadside our cockboat did greet.
"I steer'd her and damme if every inchOf these timbers of mine at each crack didn't flinch:But our tight little commodore, cool and serene,To stir ne'er a muscle by any was seen.
"Whole volleys of muskets were levell'd at him,But the devil a one ever grazed e'en a limb,Though he stood up aloft in the stern of the boat,Till the crew pull'd him down by the skirt of his coat.
"At last, through Heaven's mercy, we reached t'other ship,And the wind springing up, we gave her the whip,And run down their line, boys, through thick and through thin,And bother'd their crews with a horrible din.
"Then starboard and larboard, and this way and that,We bang'd them and raked them, and laid their masts flat,Till, one after t'other, they haul'd down their flag,And an end, for that time, put to Johnny Bull's brag.
"The Detroit, and Queen Charlotte, and Lady Prevost,Not able to fight or run, gave up the ghost:And not one of them all from our grapplings got free,Though we'd fifty-four guns, and they just sixty-three.
"Smite my limbs! but they all got their bellies full then,And found what it was, boys, to buckle with men,Who fight, or, what's just the same, think that they fightFor their country's free trade and their own native right.
"Now give us a bumper to Elliott and thoseWho came up, in good time, to belabor our foes:To our fresh-water sailors we'll toss off one more,And a dozen, at least, to our young commodore.
"And though Britons may brag of their ruling the ocean,And that sort of thing, by the Lord, I've a notion,I'll bet all I'm worth—who takes it—who takes?Though they're lords of the sea, we'll be lords of the lakes."
Immediately on receiving the surrender, Perry wrote with a pencil on the back of an old letter, using his cap for a desk, his famous message, "We have met the enemy and they are ours—two ships, two brigs, one schooner, and one sloop," and dispatched it to General Harrison.
Immediately on receiving the surrender, Perry wrote with a pencil on the back of an old letter, using his cap for a desk, his famous message, "We have met the enemy and they are ours—two ships, two brigs, one schooner, and one sloop," and dispatched it to General Harrison.
PERRY'S VICTORY—A SONG
[September 10, 1813]
Columbia, appear!—To thy mountains ascend,And pour thy bold hymn to the winds and the woods;Columbia, appear!—O'er thy tempest-harp bend,And far to the nations its trumpet-song send,—Let thy cliff-echoes wake, with their sun-nourish'd broods,And chant to the desert—the skies—and the floods,And bid them remember,The Tenth of September,When our Eagle came down from her home in the sky—And the souls of our heroes were marshall'd on high.Columbia, ascend!—Let thy warriors beholdTheir flag like a firmament bend o'er thy head.The wide rainbow-flag with its star-clustered fold!Let the knell of dark Battle beneath it be tolled,While the anthem of Peace shall be pealed for the dead,And the rude waters heave, on whose bosom they bled:Oh, they will remember,The Tenth of September,When their souls were let loose in a tempest of flame,And wide Erie shook at the trumpet of Fame.Columbia, appear!—Let thy cloud minstrels wake,As they march on the storm, all the grandeur of song,Till the far mountain reel—and the billowless lakeShall be mantled in froth, and its Monarch shall quakeOn his green oozy throne, as their harping comes strong,With the chime of the winds as they're bursting along.For he will remember,The Tenth of September,When he saw his dominions all covered with foam,And heard the loud war in its echoless home.Columbia, appear!—Be thine olive displayed,O cheer with thy smile, all the land and the tide!Be the anthem we hear not the song that was made,When the victims of slaughter stood forth, all arrayedIn blood-dripping garments—and shouted—and died.Let the hymning of peace o'er the blue heavens ride;O let us remember,The Tenth of September,When the dark waves of Erie were brightened to-day,And the flames of the Battle were quenched in the spray.
Columbia, appear!—To thy mountains ascend,And pour thy bold hymn to the winds and the woods;Columbia, appear!—O'er thy tempest-harp bend,And far to the nations its trumpet-song send,—Let thy cliff-echoes wake, with their sun-nourish'd broods,And chant to the desert—the skies—and the floods,And bid them remember,The Tenth of September,When our Eagle came down from her home in the sky—And the souls of our heroes were marshall'd on high.Columbia, ascend!—Let thy warriors beholdTheir flag like a firmament bend o'er thy head.The wide rainbow-flag with its star-clustered fold!Let the knell of dark Battle beneath it be tolled,While the anthem of Peace shall be pealed for the dead,And the rude waters heave, on whose bosom they bled:Oh, they will remember,The Tenth of September,When their souls were let loose in a tempest of flame,And wide Erie shook at the trumpet of Fame.Columbia, appear!—Let thy cloud minstrels wake,As they march on the storm, all the grandeur of song,Till the far mountain reel—and the billowless lakeShall be mantled in froth, and its Monarch shall quakeOn his green oozy throne, as their harping comes strong,With the chime of the winds as they're bursting along.For he will remember,The Tenth of September,When he saw his dominions all covered with foam,And heard the loud war in its echoless home.Columbia, appear!—Be thine olive displayed,O cheer with thy smile, all the land and the tide!Be the anthem we hear not the song that was made,When the victims of slaughter stood forth, all arrayedIn blood-dripping garments—and shouted—and died.Let the hymning of peace o'er the blue heavens ride;O let us remember,The Tenth of September,When the dark waves of Erie were brightened to-day,And the flames of the Battle were quenched in the spray.
Columbia, appear!—To thy mountains ascend,And pour thy bold hymn to the winds and the woods;Columbia, appear!—O'er thy tempest-harp bend,And far to the nations its trumpet-song send,—Let thy cliff-echoes wake, with their sun-nourish'd broods,And chant to the desert—the skies—and the floods,And bid them remember,The Tenth of September,When our Eagle came down from her home in the sky—And the souls of our heroes were marshall'd on high.
Columbia, ascend!—Let thy warriors beholdTheir flag like a firmament bend o'er thy head.The wide rainbow-flag with its star-clustered fold!Let the knell of dark Battle beneath it be tolled,While the anthem of Peace shall be pealed for the dead,And the rude waters heave, on whose bosom they bled:Oh, they will remember,The Tenth of September,When their souls were let loose in a tempest of flame,And wide Erie shook at the trumpet of Fame.
Columbia, appear!—Let thy cloud minstrels wake,As they march on the storm, all the grandeur of song,Till the far mountain reel—and the billowless lakeShall be mantled in froth, and its Monarch shall quakeOn his green oozy throne, as their harping comes strong,With the chime of the winds as they're bursting along.For he will remember,The Tenth of September,When he saw his dominions all covered with foam,And heard the loud war in its echoless home.
Columbia, appear!—Be thine olive displayed,O cheer with thy smile, all the land and the tide!Be the anthem we hear not the song that was made,When the victims of slaughter stood forth, all arrayedIn blood-dripping garments—and shouted—and died.Let the hymning of peace o'er the blue heavens ride;O let us remember,The Tenth of September,When the dark waves of Erie were brightened to-day,And the flames of the Battle were quenched in the spray.
Harrison, at the head of his army, started in hot pursuit of the British and Indians, who had been compelled to evacuate Detroit, and on October 5 overtook them on the bank of the Thames, and routed them with great loss, the Indian chief Tecumseh being among the slain.
Harrison, at the head of his army, started in hot pursuit of the British and Indians, who had been compelled to evacuate Detroit, and on October 5 overtook them on the bank of the Thames, and routed them with great loss, the Indian chief Tecumseh being among the slain.
THE FALL OF TECUMSEH
[October 5, 1813]
What heavy-hoofed coursers the wilderness roam,To the war-blast indignantly tramping?Their mouths are all white, as if frosted with foam,The steel bit impatiently champing.'Tis the hand of the mighty that grasps the rein,Conducting the free and the fearless.Ah! see them rush forward, with wild disdain,Through paths unfrequented and cheerless.From the mountains had echoed the charge of death,Announcing that chivalrous sally;The savage was heard, with untrembling breath,To pour his response from the valley.One moment, and nought but the bugle was heard,And nought but the war-whoop given;The next, and the sky seemed convulsively stirred,As if by the lightning riven.The din of the steed, and the sabred stroke,The blood-stifled gasp of the dying,Were screened by the curling sulphur-smoke,That upward went wildly flying.In the mist that hung over the field of blood,The chief of the horsemen contended;His rowels were bathed in purple flood,That fast from his charger descended.That steed reeled, and fell, in the van of the fight,But the rider repressed not his daring,Till met by a savage, whose rank and mightWere shown by the plume he was wearing.The moment was fearful; a mightier foeHad ne'er swung the battle-axe o'er him;But hope nerved his arm for a desperate blow,And Tecumseh fell prostrate before him.O ne'er may the nations again be cursedWith conflict so dark and appalling!—Foe grappled with foe, till the life-blood burstFrom their agonized bosoms in falling.Gloom, silence, and solitude rest on the spotWhere the hopes of the red man perished;But the fame of the hero who fell shall not,By the virtuous, cease to be cherished.He fought, in defence of his kindred and king,With a spirit most loving and loyal.And long shall the Indian warrior singThe deeds of Tecumseh the royal.The lightning of intellect flashed from his eye,In his arm slept the force of the thunder,But the bolt passed the suppliant harmlessly by,And left the freed captive to wonder.Above, near the path of the pilgrim, he sleeps,With a rudely built tumulus o'er him;And the bright-bosomed Thames, in his majesty, sweeps,By the mound where his followers bore him.
What heavy-hoofed coursers the wilderness roam,To the war-blast indignantly tramping?Their mouths are all white, as if frosted with foam,The steel bit impatiently champing.'Tis the hand of the mighty that grasps the rein,Conducting the free and the fearless.Ah! see them rush forward, with wild disdain,Through paths unfrequented and cheerless.From the mountains had echoed the charge of death,Announcing that chivalrous sally;The savage was heard, with untrembling breath,To pour his response from the valley.One moment, and nought but the bugle was heard,And nought but the war-whoop given;The next, and the sky seemed convulsively stirred,As if by the lightning riven.The din of the steed, and the sabred stroke,The blood-stifled gasp of the dying,Were screened by the curling sulphur-smoke,That upward went wildly flying.In the mist that hung over the field of blood,The chief of the horsemen contended;His rowels were bathed in purple flood,That fast from his charger descended.That steed reeled, and fell, in the van of the fight,But the rider repressed not his daring,Till met by a savage, whose rank and mightWere shown by the plume he was wearing.The moment was fearful; a mightier foeHad ne'er swung the battle-axe o'er him;But hope nerved his arm for a desperate blow,And Tecumseh fell prostrate before him.O ne'er may the nations again be cursedWith conflict so dark and appalling!—Foe grappled with foe, till the life-blood burstFrom their agonized bosoms in falling.Gloom, silence, and solitude rest on the spotWhere the hopes of the red man perished;But the fame of the hero who fell shall not,By the virtuous, cease to be cherished.He fought, in defence of his kindred and king,With a spirit most loving and loyal.And long shall the Indian warrior singThe deeds of Tecumseh the royal.The lightning of intellect flashed from his eye,In his arm slept the force of the thunder,But the bolt passed the suppliant harmlessly by,And left the freed captive to wonder.Above, near the path of the pilgrim, he sleeps,With a rudely built tumulus o'er him;And the bright-bosomed Thames, in his majesty, sweeps,By the mound where his followers bore him.
What heavy-hoofed coursers the wilderness roam,To the war-blast indignantly tramping?Their mouths are all white, as if frosted with foam,The steel bit impatiently champing.
'Tis the hand of the mighty that grasps the rein,Conducting the free and the fearless.Ah! see them rush forward, with wild disdain,Through paths unfrequented and cheerless.
From the mountains had echoed the charge of death,Announcing that chivalrous sally;The savage was heard, with untrembling breath,To pour his response from the valley.
One moment, and nought but the bugle was heard,And nought but the war-whoop given;The next, and the sky seemed convulsively stirred,As if by the lightning riven.
The din of the steed, and the sabred stroke,The blood-stifled gasp of the dying,Were screened by the curling sulphur-smoke,That upward went wildly flying.
In the mist that hung over the field of blood,The chief of the horsemen contended;His rowels were bathed in purple flood,That fast from his charger descended.
That steed reeled, and fell, in the van of the fight,But the rider repressed not his daring,Till met by a savage, whose rank and mightWere shown by the plume he was wearing.
The moment was fearful; a mightier foeHad ne'er swung the battle-axe o'er him;But hope nerved his arm for a desperate blow,And Tecumseh fell prostrate before him.
O ne'er may the nations again be cursedWith conflict so dark and appalling!—Foe grappled with foe, till the life-blood burstFrom their agonized bosoms in falling.
Gloom, silence, and solitude rest on the spotWhere the hopes of the red man perished;But the fame of the hero who fell shall not,By the virtuous, cease to be cherished.
He fought, in defence of his kindred and king,With a spirit most loving and loyal.And long shall the Indian warrior singThe deeds of Tecumseh the royal.
The lightning of intellect flashed from his eye,In his arm slept the force of the thunder,But the bolt passed the suppliant harmlessly by,And left the freed captive to wonder.
Above, near the path of the pilgrim, he sleeps,With a rudely built tumulus o'er him;And the bright-bosomed Thames, in his majesty, sweeps,By the mound where his followers bore him.
The British took care to maintain as strictly as possible the blockade of the American coast, and the coast towns were kept in a constant state of terror lest they be bombarded and burned.
The British took care to maintain as strictly as possible the blockade of the American coast, and the coast towns were kept in a constant state of terror lest they be bombarded and burned.
THE LEGEND OF WALBACH TOWER
Scene.—Fort Constitution on the Island of Newcastle, off Portsmouth,N. H., Colonel Walbach, commanding.Period, the fall of 1813.
More ill at ease was never man thanWalbach, that Lord's day,When, spent with speed, a trawler cried, "A war-ship heads this way!"His pipe, half filled, to shatters flew; he climbed the ridge of knolls;And, turning spy-glass toward the east, swept the long reach of Shoals.An hour he watched: behind his back the Portsmouth spires waxed red;Its harbor like a field of war, a brazen shield o'erhead.Another hour: the sundown gun the Sabbath stillness brake;When loud a second voice hallooed, "Two war-ships hither make!"Again the colonel scanned the east, where soon white gleams arose:Behind Star Isle they first appeared, then flashed o'er Smuttynose.Fleet-wing'd they left Duck Isle astern; when, rounding full in view,Lo! in the face of Appledore three Britishers hove to."To arms, O townsfolk!" Walbach cried, "Behold these black hawk three!Whether they pluck old Portsmouth town rests now with you and me."The guns of Kittery, and mine, may keep the channel clear,If but one pintle-stone be raised to ward me in the rear."But scarce a score my muster-roll; the earthworks lie unmanned(Whereof some mouthing spy, no doubt, has made them understand);"And if, ere dawn, their long-boat keels once kiss the nether sands,My every port-hole's mouth is stopped, and we be in their hands!"Then straightway from his place upspake the parson of the town:"Let us beseech Heaven's blessing first!"—and all the folk knelt down."O God, our hands are few and faint; our hope rests all with thee:Lend us thy hand in this sore strait,—and thine the glory be!""Amen! Amen!" the chorus rose; "Amen!" the pines replied;And through the churchyard's rustling grass an "Amen" softly sighed.Astir the village was awhile, with hoof and iron clang;Then all grew still, save where, aloft, a hundred trowels rang.None supped, they say, that Lord's-day eve; none slept, they say, that night;But all night long, with tireless arms, each toiled as best he might.Four flax-haired boys of Amazeen the flickering torches stay,Peopling with titan shadow-groups the canopy of gray;Grandsires, with frost above their brows, the steaming mortar mix;Dame Tarlton's apron, crisp at dawn, helps hod the yellow bricks;While pilot, cooper, mackerelman, parson and squire as well,Make haste to plant the pintle-gun, and raise its citadel.And one who wrought still tells the tale, that as his task he plied,An unseen fellow-form he felt that labored at his side;And still to wondering ears relates, that as each brick was squared,Lo! unseen trowels clinked response, and a new course prepared.O night of nights! The blinking dawn beheld the marvel done,And from the new martello boomed the echoing morning gun.One stormy cloud its lip upblew; and as its thunder rolled,Old England saw, above the smoke, New England's flag unfold.Then, slowly tacking to and fro, more near the cruisers made,To see what force unheralded had flown to Walbach's aid."God be our stay," the parson cried, "who hearkened Israel's wail!"And as he spake,—all in a line, seaward the ships set sail.George Houghton.
More ill at ease was never man thanWalbach, that Lord's day,When, spent with speed, a trawler cried, "A war-ship heads this way!"His pipe, half filled, to shatters flew; he climbed the ridge of knolls;And, turning spy-glass toward the east, swept the long reach of Shoals.An hour he watched: behind his back the Portsmouth spires waxed red;Its harbor like a field of war, a brazen shield o'erhead.Another hour: the sundown gun the Sabbath stillness brake;When loud a second voice hallooed, "Two war-ships hither make!"Again the colonel scanned the east, where soon white gleams arose:Behind Star Isle they first appeared, then flashed o'er Smuttynose.Fleet-wing'd they left Duck Isle astern; when, rounding full in view,Lo! in the face of Appledore three Britishers hove to."To arms, O townsfolk!" Walbach cried, "Behold these black hawk three!Whether they pluck old Portsmouth town rests now with you and me."The guns of Kittery, and mine, may keep the channel clear,If but one pintle-stone be raised to ward me in the rear."But scarce a score my muster-roll; the earthworks lie unmanned(Whereof some mouthing spy, no doubt, has made them understand);"And if, ere dawn, their long-boat keels once kiss the nether sands,My every port-hole's mouth is stopped, and we be in their hands!"Then straightway from his place upspake the parson of the town:"Let us beseech Heaven's blessing first!"—and all the folk knelt down."O God, our hands are few and faint; our hope rests all with thee:Lend us thy hand in this sore strait,—and thine the glory be!""Amen! Amen!" the chorus rose; "Amen!" the pines replied;And through the churchyard's rustling grass an "Amen" softly sighed.Astir the village was awhile, with hoof and iron clang;Then all grew still, save where, aloft, a hundred trowels rang.None supped, they say, that Lord's-day eve; none slept, they say, that night;But all night long, with tireless arms, each toiled as best he might.Four flax-haired boys of Amazeen the flickering torches stay,Peopling with titan shadow-groups the canopy of gray;Grandsires, with frost above their brows, the steaming mortar mix;Dame Tarlton's apron, crisp at dawn, helps hod the yellow bricks;While pilot, cooper, mackerelman, parson and squire as well,Make haste to plant the pintle-gun, and raise its citadel.And one who wrought still tells the tale, that as his task he plied,An unseen fellow-form he felt that labored at his side;And still to wondering ears relates, that as each brick was squared,Lo! unseen trowels clinked response, and a new course prepared.O night of nights! The blinking dawn beheld the marvel done,And from the new martello boomed the echoing morning gun.One stormy cloud its lip upblew; and as its thunder rolled,Old England saw, above the smoke, New England's flag unfold.Then, slowly tacking to and fro, more near the cruisers made,To see what force unheralded had flown to Walbach's aid."God be our stay," the parson cried, "who hearkened Israel's wail!"And as he spake,—all in a line, seaward the ships set sail.George Houghton.
More ill at ease was never man thanWalbach, that Lord's day,When, spent with speed, a trawler cried, "A war-ship heads this way!"
His pipe, half filled, to shatters flew; he climbed the ridge of knolls;And, turning spy-glass toward the east, swept the long reach of Shoals.
An hour he watched: behind his back the Portsmouth spires waxed red;Its harbor like a field of war, a brazen shield o'erhead.
Another hour: the sundown gun the Sabbath stillness brake;When loud a second voice hallooed, "Two war-ships hither make!"
Again the colonel scanned the east, where soon white gleams arose:Behind Star Isle they first appeared, then flashed o'er Smuttynose.
Fleet-wing'd they left Duck Isle astern; when, rounding full in view,Lo! in the face of Appledore three Britishers hove to.
"To arms, O townsfolk!" Walbach cried, "Behold these black hawk three!Whether they pluck old Portsmouth town rests now with you and me.
"The guns of Kittery, and mine, may keep the channel clear,If but one pintle-stone be raised to ward me in the rear.
"But scarce a score my muster-roll; the earthworks lie unmanned(Whereof some mouthing spy, no doubt, has made them understand);
"And if, ere dawn, their long-boat keels once kiss the nether sands,My every port-hole's mouth is stopped, and we be in their hands!"
Then straightway from his place upspake the parson of the town:"Let us beseech Heaven's blessing first!"—and all the folk knelt down.
"O God, our hands are few and faint; our hope rests all with thee:Lend us thy hand in this sore strait,—and thine the glory be!"
"Amen! Amen!" the chorus rose; "Amen!" the pines replied;And through the churchyard's rustling grass an "Amen" softly sighed.
Astir the village was awhile, with hoof and iron clang;Then all grew still, save where, aloft, a hundred trowels rang.
None supped, they say, that Lord's-day eve; none slept, they say, that night;But all night long, with tireless arms, each toiled as best he might.
Four flax-haired boys of Amazeen the flickering torches stay,Peopling with titan shadow-groups the canopy of gray;
Grandsires, with frost above their brows, the steaming mortar mix;Dame Tarlton's apron, crisp at dawn, helps hod the yellow bricks;
While pilot, cooper, mackerelman, parson and squire as well,Make haste to plant the pintle-gun, and raise its citadel.
And one who wrought still tells the tale, that as his task he plied,An unseen fellow-form he felt that labored at his side;
And still to wondering ears relates, that as each brick was squared,Lo! unseen trowels clinked response, and a new course prepared.
O night of nights! The blinking dawn beheld the marvel done,And from the new martello boomed the echoing morning gun.
One stormy cloud its lip upblew; and as its thunder rolled,Old England saw, above the smoke, New England's flag unfold.
Then, slowly tacking to and fro, more near the cruisers made,To see what force unheralded had flown to Walbach's aid.
"God be our stay," the parson cried, "who hearkened Israel's wail!"And as he spake,—all in a line, seaward the ships set sail.
George Houghton.
In order to draw British ships from this blockade, the government adopted the policy of sending light squadrons into distant seas, and in October, 1812, the 32-gun frigate Essex, Captain David Porter, sailed to join the Constitution and Hornet for a cruise in the Indian Ocean. Porter failed to find the other ships and decided to double Cape Horn and cruise in the Pacific. He captured a number of prizes, and completely destroyed British commerce in the south Pacific. A strong force of British cruisers was sent out to intercept him, and finally, on March 28, 1814, he was caught in a disabled condition at Valparaiso by two British ships, and attacked, notwithstanding the neutrality of the port. After a desperate fight, he was forced to surrender.
In order to draw British ships from this blockade, the government adopted the policy of sending light squadrons into distant seas, and in October, 1812, the 32-gun frigate Essex, Captain David Porter, sailed to join the Constitution and Hornet for a cruise in the Indian Ocean. Porter failed to find the other ships and decided to double Cape Horn and cruise in the Pacific. He captured a number of prizes, and completely destroyed British commerce in the south Pacific. A strong force of British cruisers was sent out to intercept him, and finally, on March 28, 1814, he was caught in a disabled condition at Valparaiso by two British ships, and attacked, notwithstanding the neutrality of the port. After a desperate fight, he was forced to surrender.
THE BATTLE OF VALPARAISO
Proeliis audax, neque te silebo.—Hor.
[March 28, 1814]
From the laurel's fairest bough,Let the muse her garland twine,To adorn our Porter's brow,Who, beyond the burning line,Led his caravan of tars o'er the tide.To the pilgrims fill the bowl,Who, around the southern pole,Saw new constellations roll,For their guide."Heave the topmast from the board,And our ship for action clear,By the cannon and the sword,We will die or conquer here.The foe, of twice our force, nears us fast:To your posts, my faithful tars!Mind your rigging, guns, and spars,And defend your stripes and starsTo the last."At the captain's bold command,Flew each sailor to his gun,And resolved he there would stand,Though the odds was two to one,To defend his flag and ship with his life:High on every mast display'd,"God, Our Country, and Free Trade,"E'en the bravest braver madeFor the strife.Fierce the storm of battle pours:But unmoved as ocean's rock,When the tempest round it roars,Every seaman breasts the shock,Boldly stepping where his brave messmates fall.O'er his head, full oft and loud,Like the vulture in a cloud,As it cuts the twanging shroud,Screams the ball.Before the siroc blastFrom its iron caverns driven,Drops the sear'd and shiver'd mast,By the bolt of battle riven,And higher heaps the ruin of the deck—As the sailor, bleeding, dies,To his comrades lifts his eyes,"Let our flag still wave," he cries,O'er the wreck.In echo to the sponge,Hark! along the silent lee,Oft is heard the solemn plunge,In the bosom of the sea.'Tis not the sullen plunge of the dead,But the self-devoted tar,Who, to grace the victor's car,Scorns from home and friends afarTo be led.Long live the gallant crewWho survived that day of blood:And may fortune soon renewEqualbattle on the flood.Long live the glorious names of the braveO'er these martyrs of the deep,Oft the roving tar shall weep,Crying, "Sweetly may they sleep'Neath the wave."
From the laurel's fairest bough,Let the muse her garland twine,To adorn our Porter's brow,Who, beyond the burning line,Led his caravan of tars o'er the tide.To the pilgrims fill the bowl,Who, around the southern pole,Saw new constellations roll,For their guide."Heave the topmast from the board,And our ship for action clear,By the cannon and the sword,We will die or conquer here.The foe, of twice our force, nears us fast:To your posts, my faithful tars!Mind your rigging, guns, and spars,And defend your stripes and starsTo the last."At the captain's bold command,Flew each sailor to his gun,And resolved he there would stand,Though the odds was two to one,To defend his flag and ship with his life:High on every mast display'd,"God, Our Country, and Free Trade,"E'en the bravest braver madeFor the strife.Fierce the storm of battle pours:But unmoved as ocean's rock,When the tempest round it roars,Every seaman breasts the shock,Boldly stepping where his brave messmates fall.O'er his head, full oft and loud,Like the vulture in a cloud,As it cuts the twanging shroud,Screams the ball.Before the siroc blastFrom its iron caverns driven,Drops the sear'd and shiver'd mast,By the bolt of battle riven,And higher heaps the ruin of the deck—As the sailor, bleeding, dies,To his comrades lifts his eyes,"Let our flag still wave," he cries,O'er the wreck.In echo to the sponge,Hark! along the silent lee,Oft is heard the solemn plunge,In the bosom of the sea.'Tis not the sullen plunge of the dead,But the self-devoted tar,Who, to grace the victor's car,Scorns from home and friends afarTo be led.Long live the gallant crewWho survived that day of blood:And may fortune soon renewEqualbattle on the flood.Long live the glorious names of the braveO'er these martyrs of the deep,Oft the roving tar shall weep,Crying, "Sweetly may they sleep'Neath the wave."
From the laurel's fairest bough,Let the muse her garland twine,To adorn our Porter's brow,Who, beyond the burning line,Led his caravan of tars o'er the tide.To the pilgrims fill the bowl,Who, around the southern pole,Saw new constellations roll,For their guide.
"Heave the topmast from the board,And our ship for action clear,By the cannon and the sword,We will die or conquer here.The foe, of twice our force, nears us fast:To your posts, my faithful tars!Mind your rigging, guns, and spars,And defend your stripes and starsTo the last."
At the captain's bold command,Flew each sailor to his gun,And resolved he there would stand,Though the odds was two to one,To defend his flag and ship with his life:High on every mast display'd,"God, Our Country, and Free Trade,"E'en the bravest braver madeFor the strife.
Fierce the storm of battle pours:But unmoved as ocean's rock,When the tempest round it roars,Every seaman breasts the shock,Boldly stepping where his brave messmates fall.O'er his head, full oft and loud,Like the vulture in a cloud,As it cuts the twanging shroud,Screams the ball.
Before the siroc blastFrom its iron caverns driven,Drops the sear'd and shiver'd mast,By the bolt of battle riven,And higher heaps the ruin of the deck—As the sailor, bleeding, dies,To his comrades lifts his eyes,"Let our flag still wave," he cries,O'er the wreck.
In echo to the sponge,Hark! along the silent lee,Oft is heard the solemn plunge,In the bosom of the sea.'Tis not the sullen plunge of the dead,But the self-devoted tar,Who, to grace the victor's car,Scorns from home and friends afarTo be led.
Long live the gallant crewWho survived that day of blood:And may fortune soon renewEqualbattle on the flood.Long live the glorious names of the braveO'er these martyrs of the deep,Oft the roving tar shall weep,Crying, "Sweetly may they sleep'Neath the wave."
With the opening of the spring of 1814, the campaign along the Canadian border was begun with unusual activity. The army there was under Major-General Jacob Brown, and on July 25 met the British in the fiercely contested battle of Lundy's Lane, or Bridgewater.
With the opening of the spring of 1814, the campaign along the Canadian border was begun with unusual activity. The army there was under Major-General Jacob Brown, and on July 25 met the British in the fiercely contested battle of Lundy's Lane, or Bridgewater.
THE BATTLE OF BRIDGEWATER
[July 25, 1814]