CHAPTER I
THE NEW NATION
The war was ended, but the five years following 1783 were perhaps the most critical in the history of the American people. The country was at the verge of bankruptcy, there was discontent everywhere. In Massachusetts, the malcontents found a leader in Daniel Shays, rose in rebellion, looted the country, and were not dispersed for nearly a year.
A RADICAL SONG OF 1786
Huzza, my Jo Bunkers! [no taxes we'll pay];
[Here's a pardon for Wheeler, Shays, Parsons, and Day];
Put green boughs in your hats, and renew the old cause;
Stop the courts in each county, and bully the laws:
Constitutions and oaths, sir, we mind not a rush;
Such trifles must yield to us lads of the bush.
New laws and new charters our books shall display,
Composed by conventions and Counsellor Grey.
Since Boston and Salem so haughty have grown,
We'll make them to know we can let them alone.
Of Glasgow or Pelham we'll make a seaport,
And there we'll assemble our General Court:
Our governor, now, boys, shall turn out to work,
And live, like ourselves, on molasses and pork;
In Adams or Greenwich he'll live like a peer
On three hundred pounds, paper money, a year.
Grand jurors, and sheriffs, and lawyers we'll spurn,
As judges, we'll all take the bench in our turn,
And sit the whole term, without pension or fee,
Nor Cushing nor Sewal look graver than we.
Our wigs, though they're rusty, are decent enough;
Our aprons, though black, are of durable stuff;
Array'd in such gear, the laws we'll explain,
That poor people no more shall have cause to complain.
To Congress and impost we'll plead a release;
The French we can beat half-a-dozen apiece;
We want not their guineas, their arms, or alliance;
And as for the Dutchmen, we bid them defiance.
Then huzza, my Jo Bunkers! no taxes we'll pay;
Here's a pardon for Wheeler, Shays, Parsons and Day;
Put green boughs in your hats, and renew the old cause;
Stop the courts in each county, and bully the laws.
St. John Honeywood.
A federal convention was proposed, and in May, 1787, there assembled at Philadelphia fifty-five men appointed by the various states to devise an adequate constitution for a federal government.
THE FEDERAL CONVENTION
[May, 1787]
Concentred here th' united wisdom shines,
Of learn'd judges, and of sound divines:
Patriots, whose virtues searching time has tried,
Heroes, who fought, where brother heroes died;
Lawyers, who speak, as Tully spoke before,
Sages, deep read in philosophic lore;
Merchants, whose plans are to no realms confin'd,
Farmers—the noblest title 'mongst mankind:
Yeomen and tradesmen, pillars of the state;
On whose decision hangs Columbia's fate.
September, 1787.
George Washington was chosen president of the convention; the doors were locked, and the Herculean task of making a constitution begun. Washington himself, in a burst of noble eloquence, braced the delegates for the task before them. The problem was to devise a government which should bind all the states without impairing their sovereignty.
TO THE FEDERAL CONVENTION
[1787]
Be then your counsels, as your subject, great,
A world their sphere, and time's long reign their date.
Each party-view, each private good, disclaim,
Each petty maxim, each colonial aim;
Let all Columbia's weal your views expand,
A mighty system rule a mighty land;
Yourselves her genuine sons let Europe own,
Not the small agents of a paltry town.
Learn, cautious, what to alter, where to mend;
See to what close projected measures tend.
From pressing wants the mind averting still,
Thinks good remotest from the present ill:
From feuds anarchial to oppression's throne,
Misguided nations hence for safety run;
And through the miseries of a thousand years,
Their fatal folly mourn in bloody tears.
Ten thousand follies thro' Columbia spread;
Ten thousand wars her darling realms invade.
The private interest of each jealous state;
Of rule th' impatience and of law the hate.
But ah! from narrow springs these evils flow,
A few base wretches mingle general woe;
Still the same mind her manly race pervades;
Still the same virtues haunt the hallow'd shades.
But when the peals of war her centre shook,
All private aims the anxious mind forsook.
In danger's iron-bond her race was one,
Each separate good, each little view unknown.
Now rule, unsystem'd, drives the mind astray;
Now private interest points the downward way:
Hence civil discord pours her muddy stream,
And fools and villains float upon the brim;
O'er all, the sad spectator casts his eye,
And wonders where the gems and minerals lie.
But ne'er of freedom, glory, bliss, despond:
Uplift your eyes those little clouds beyond;
See there returning suns, with gladdening ray,
Roll on fair spring to chase this wint'ry day.
'Tis yours to bid those days of Eden shine:
First, then, and last, the federal bands entwine:
To this your every aim and effort bend:
Let all your efforts here commence and end.
O'er state concerns, let every state preside;
Its private tax controul; its justice guide;
Religion aid; the morals to secure;
And bid each private right thro' time endure.
Columbia's interests public sway demand,
Her commerce, impost, unlocated land;
Her war, her peace, her military power;
Treaties to seal with every distant shore;
To bid contending states their discord cease;
To send thro' all the calumet of peace;
Science to wing thro' every noble flight;
And lift desponding genius into light.
Be then your task to alter, aid, amend;
The weak to strengthen, and the rigid bend;
The prurient lop; what's wanted to supply;
And grant new scions from each friendly sky.
Timothy Dwight.
There was a natural antagonism between large and small states, and more than once the convention was on the verge of dissolution; but a compromise was finally reached, the constitution as we know it was evolved and signed by all the delegates, and on September 17, 1787, the convention adjourned. The constitution was familiarly styled the "new roof."
THE NEW ROOF
A SONG FOR FEDERAL MECHANICS
[1787]
I
Come muster, my lads, your mechanical tools,
Your saws and your axes, your hammers and rules;
Bring your mallets and planes, your level and line,
And plenty of pins of American pine:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
Our government firm, and our citizens free.
II
Come, up with the plates, lay them firm on the wall,
Like the people at large, they're the groundwork of all;
Examine them well, and see that they're sound,
Let no rotten part in our building be found:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be
A government firm, and our citizens free.
III
Now hand up the girders, lay each in his place,
Between them the joists, must divide all the space;
Like assemblymen these should lie level along,
Like girders, our senate prove loyal and strong:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be
A government firm over citizens free.
IV
The rafters now frame; your king-posts and braces,
And drive your pins home, to keep all in their places;
Let wisdom and strength in the fabric combine,
And your pins be all made of American pine:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
A government firm over citizens free.
V
Our king-posts are judges; how upright they stand,
Supporting the braces; the laws of the land:
The laws of the land, which divide right from wrong,
And strengthen the weak, by weak'ning the strong:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
Laws equal and just, for a people that's free.
VI
Up! up! with the rafters; each frame is a state:
How nobly they rise! their span, too, how great!
From the north to the south, o'er the whole they extend,
And rest on the walls, whilst the walls they defend:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be
Combined in strength, yet as citizens free.
VII
Now enter the purlins, and drive your pins through;
And see that your joints are drawn home and all true.
The purlins will bind all the rafters together:
The strength of the whole shall defy wind and weather:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
United as states, but as citizens free.
VIII
Come, raise up the turret; our glory and pride;
In the centre it stands, o'er the whole to preside:
The sons of Columbia shall view with delight
Its pillars, and arches, and towering height:
Our roof is now rais'd, and our song still shall be,
A federal head o'er a people that's free.
IX
Huzza! my brave boys, our work is complete;
The world shall admire Columbia's fair seat;
Its strength against tempest and time shall be proof,
And thousands shall come to dwell under our roof:
Whilst we drain the deep bowl, our toast still shall be,
Our government firm, and our citizens free.
Francis Hopkinson.
The new constitution had still to be submitted to the several states for ratification. One after another they fell into line, but Massachusetts held back. On January 9, 1788, the convention met, and week after week dragged by in fierce debate; but finally, on February 6, 1788, the Constitution was ratified by a majority of nineteen votes.
CONVENTION SONG
[February 6, 1788]
The 'Vention did in Boston meet
But State House could not hold 'em,
[So they went to Federal Street],
And there the truth was told 'em.
Yankee doodle, keep it up!
Yankee doodle, dandy,
Mind the music and the step,
And with the girls be handy.
They every morning went to prayer;
And then began disputing;
Till opposition silenced were,
By arguments refuting.
Then 'Squire Hancock, like a man
Who dearly loves the nation,
By a Concil'atory plan,
Prevented much vexation.
He made a woundy Fed'ral speech,
With sense and elocution;
And then the Yankees did beseech
T' adopt the Constitution.
The question being outright put
(Each voter independent),
The Fed'ralists agreed to adopt,
And then propose amendments.
The other party seeing then
The People were against them,
Agreed, like honest, faithful men,
To mix in peace amongst 'em.
The Boston folks are deuced lads,
And always full of notions;
The boys, the girls, their mams and dads,
Were fill'd with joy's commotions.
So straightway they procession made,
Lord, how nation fine, sir!
For every man of every trade
Went with his tools—to dine, sir.
John Foster Williams in a ship
Join'd with the social band, sir
And made the lasses dance and skip,
To see him sail on land, sir!
O then a whopping feast began,
And all hands went to eating,
They drank their toasts, shook hands and sung—
Huzza for 'Vention meeting!
Now, politicians, of all kinds,
Who are not yet derided,
May see how Yankees speak their minds,
And yet we're not decided.
Then from this sample, let 'em cease
Inflammatory writing;
For freedom, happiness, and peace,
Are better far than fighting.
So here I end my Federal song,
Composed of thirteen verses;
May agriculture flourish long,
And commerce fill our purses.
Hot battles were still to be fought in some of the other states,—hottest of all in New York,—but by midsummer of 1788 all the states had ratified the Constitution, and it stood an accomplished fact.
THE FEDERAL CONSTITUTION
Poets may sing of their Helicon streams;
Their gods and their heroes are fabulous dreams!
They ne'er sang a line
Half so grand, so divine
As the glorious toast
We Columbians boast—
The Federal Constitution, boys, and Liberty forever.
The man of our choice presides at the helm;
No tempest can harm us, no storm overwhelm;
Our sheet anchor's sure,
And our bark rides secure;
So here's to the toast
We Columbians boast—
The Federal Constitution and the President forever.
A free navigation, commerce, and trade,
We'll seek for no foe, of no foe be afraid;
Our frigates shall ride,
Our defence and our pride;
Our tars guard our coast,
And huzza for our toast—
The Federal Constitution, trade and commerce forever.
Montgomery and Warren still live in our songs;
Like them our young heroes shall spurn at our wrongs:
The world shall admire
The zeal and the fire,
Which blaze in the toast
We Columbians boast—
The Federal Constitution and its advocates forever.
When an enemy threats, all party shall cease;
We bribe no intruders to buy a mean peace;
Columbia will scorn
Friends and foes to suborn;
We'll ne'er stain the toast
Which as freemen we boast—
The Federal Constitution, and integrity forever.
Fame's trumpet shall swell in Washington's praise,
And time grant a furlough to lengthen his days;
May health weave the thread
Of delight round his head.
No nation can boast
Such a name, such a toast,
The Federal Constitution, boys, and Washington forever.
William Milns.
The Continental Congress, in putting an end to its troubled existence, decreed that the first presidential election should be held on the first Wednesday of January, 1789, and that the Senate and House of Representatives should assemble on the first Wednesday in March.
[April 6, 1789]
Columbus looked; and still around them spread,
From south to north, th' immeasurable shade;
At last, the central shadows burst away,
And rising regions open'd on the day.
He saw, once more, bright Del'ware's silver stream,
And Penn's throng'd city cast a cheerful gleam;
The dome of state, that met his eager eye,
Now heav'd its arches in a loftier sky.
The bursting gates unfold: and lo, within,
A solemn train in conscious glory shine.
The well-known forms his eye had trac'd before,
In diff'rent realms along th' extended shore;
Here, grac'd with nobler fame, and rob'd in state,
They look'd and mov'd magnificently great.
High on the foremost seat, in living light,
Majestic Randolph caught the hero's sight:
Fair on his head, the civic crown was plac'd,
And the first dignity his sceptre grac'd.
He opes the cause, and points in prospect far,
Thro' all the toils that wait th' impending war—
But, hapless sage, thy reign must soon be o'er,
To lend thy lustre, and to shine no more.
So the bright morning star, from shades of ev'n,
Leads up the dawn, and lights the front of heav'n,
Points to the waking world the sun's broad way,
Then veils his own, and shines above the day.
And see great Washington behind thee rise,
Thy following sun, to gild our morning skies;
O'er shadowy climes to pour the enliv'ning flame,
The charms of freedom and the fire of fame.
Th' ascending chief adorn'd his splendid seat,
Like Randolph, ensign'd with a crown of state;
Where the green patriot bay beheld, with pride,
The hero's laurel springing by its side;
His sword, hung useless, on his graceful thigh,
On Britain still he cast a filial eye;
But sov'reign fortitude his visage bore,
To meet their legions on th' invaded shore.
Sage Franklin next arose, in awful mien,
And smil'd, unruffled, o'er th' approaching scene;
High, on his locks of age, a wreath was brac'd,
Palm of all arts, that e'er a mortal grac'd;
Beneath him lies the sceptre kings have borne,
And crowns and laurels from their temples torn.
Nash, Rutledge, Jefferson, in council great,
And Jay and Laurens op'd the rolls of fate.
The Livingstons, fair Freedom's gen'rous band,
The Lees, the Houstons, fathers of the land,
O'er climes and kingdoms turn'd their ardent eyes,
Bade all th' oppressed to speedy vengeance rise;
All pow'rs of state, in their extended plan,
Rise from consent to shield the rights of man.
Bold Wolcott urg'd the all-important cause;
With steady hand the solemn scene he draws;
Undaunted firmness with his wisdom join'd,
Nor kings nor worlds could warp his stedfast mind.
Now, graceful rising from his purple throne,
In radiant robes, immortal Hosmer shone;
Myrtles and bays his learned temples bound,
The statesman's wreath, the poet's garland crown'd:
Morals and laws expand his liberal soul,
Beam from his eyes, and in his accents roll.
But lo! an unseen hand the curtain drew,
And snatch'd the patriot from the hero's view;
Wrapp'd in the shroud of death, he sees descend
The guide of nations and the muses' friend.
Columbus dropp'd a tear. The angel's eye
Trac'd the freed spirit mounting thro' the sky.
Adams, enrag'd, a broken charter bore,
And lawless acts of ministerial pow'r;
Some injur'd right in each loose leaf appears,
A king in terrors and a land in tears;
From all the guileful plots the veil he drew,
With eye retortive look'd creation through;
Op'd the wide range of nature's boundless plan,
Trac'd all the steps of liberty and man;
Crowds rose to vengeance while his accents rung,
And Independence thunder'd from his tongue.
Joel Barlow.
The first business was the counting of the electoral votes. There were sixty-nine of them, and every one was for George Washington, of Virginia.
WASHINGTON
God wills no man a slave. The man most meek,
Who saw Him face to face on Horeb's peak,
Had slain a tyrant for a bondman's wrong,
And met his Lord with sinless soul and strong.
But when, years after, overfraught with care,
His feet once trod doubt's pathway to despair,
For that one treason lapse, the guiding hand
That led so far now barred the promised land.
God makes no man a slave, no doubter free;
Abiding faith alone wins liberty.
No angel led our Chieftain's steps aright;
No pilot cloud by day, no flame by night;
No plague nor portent spake to foe or friend;
No doubt assailed him, faithful to the end.
Weaklings there were, as in the tribes of old,
Who craved for fleshpots, worshipped calves of gold,
Murmured that right would harder be than wrong,
And freedom's narrow road so steep and long;
But he who ne'er on Sinai's summit trod,
Still walked the highest heights and spake with God;
Saw with anointed eyes no promised land
By petty bounds or pettier cycles spanned,
Its people curbed and broken to the ring,
Packed with a caste and saddled with a King,—
But freedom's heritage and training school,
Where men unruled should learn to wisely rule,
Till sun and moon should see at Ajalon
King's heads in dust and freemen's feet thereon.
His work well done, the leader stepped aside,
Spurning a crown with more than kingly pride,
Content to wear the higher crown of worth,
While time endures, First Citizen of earth.
James Jeffrey Roche.
Washington left Mount Vernon on April 16, and started for New York, where, on April 30, 1789, he took the oath of office as President of the United States.
[April 30, 1789]
The sword was sheathed: in April's sun
Lay green the fields by Freedom won;
And severed sections, weary of debates,
Joined hands at last and were United States.
O City sitting by the Sea!
How proud the day that dawned on thee,
When the new era, long desired, began,
And, in its need, the hour had found the man!
One thought the cannon salvos spoke,
The resonant bell-tower's vibrant stroke,
The voiceful streets, the plaudit-echoing halls,
And prayer and hymn borne heavenward from St. Paul's!
How felt the land in every part
The strong throb of a nation's heart,
As its great leader gave, with reverent awe,
His pledge to Union, Liberty, and Law!
That pledge the heavens above him heard,
That vow the sleep of centuries stirred;
In world-wide wonder listening peoples bent
Their gaze on Freedom's great experiment.
Could it succeed? Of honor sold
And hopes deceived all history told.
Above the wrecks that strewed the mournful past,
Was the long dream of ages true at last?
Thank God! the people's choice was just,
The one man equal to his trust,
Wise beyond lore, and without weakness good,
Calm in the strength of flawless rectitude!
His rule of justice, order, peace,
Made possible the world's release;
Taught prince and serf that power is but a trust,
And rule alone, which serves the ruled, is just;
That Freedom generous is, but strong
In hate of fraud and selfish wrong,
Pretence that turns her holy truth to lies,
And lawless license masking in her guise.
Land of his love! with one glad voice
Let thy great sisterhood rejoice;
A century's suns o'er thee have risen and set,
And, God be praised, we are one nation yet.
And still we trust the years to be
Shall prove his hope was destiny,
Leaving our flag, with all its added stars,
Unrent by faction and unstained by wars.
Lo! where with patient toil he nursed
And trained the new-set plant at first,
The widening branches of a stately tree
Stretch from the sunrise to the sunset sea.
And in its broad and sheltering shade,
Sitting with none to make afraid,
Were we now silent, through each mighty limb,
The winds of heaven would sing the praise of him.
Our first and best!—his ashes lie
Beneath his own Virginian sky.
Forgive, forget, O true and just and brave,
The storm that swept above thy sacred grave!
For, ever in the awful strife
And dark hours of the nation's life,
Through the fierce tumult pierced his warning word,
Their father's voice his erring children heard!
The change for which he prayed and sought
In that sharp agony was wrought;
No partial interest draws its alien line
'Twixt North and South, the cypress and the pine!
One people now, all doubt beyond,
His name shall be our Union-bond;
We lift our hands to Heaven, and here and now
Take on our lips the old Centennial vow.
For rule and trust must needs be ours;
Chooser and chosen both are powers
Equal in service as in rights; the claim
Of Duty rests on each and all the same.
Then let the sovereign millions, where
Our banner floats in sun and air,
From the warm palm-lands to Alaska's cold,
Repeat with us the pledge a century old!
John Greenleaf Whittier.
Benjamin Franklin had been in ill-health for many months, and the end came at Philadelphia, April 17, 1790. He was born at Boston, January 17, 1706.
ON THE DEATH OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
[April 17, 1790]
Thus, some tall tree that long hath stood
The glory of its native wood,
By storms destroyed, or length of years,
Demands the tribute of our tears.
The pile, that took long time to raise,
To dust returns by slow decays;
But, when its destined years are o'er,
We must regret the loss the more.
So long accustomed to your aid,
The world laments your exit made;
So long befriended by your art,
Philosopher, 'tis hard to part!—
When monarchs tumble to the ground
Successors easily are found;
But, matchless Franklin! what a few
Can hope to rival such as you,
Who seized from kings their sceptred pride,
And turned the lightning's darts aside!
Philip Freneau.
On November 6, 1792, George Washington was again unanimously chosen President of the United States, and was inaugurated on March 4, 1793.
GEORGE WASHINGTON
This was the man God gave us when the hour
Proclaimed the dawn of Liberty begun;
Who dared a deed and died when it was done
Patient in triumph, temperate in power,—
Not striving like the Corsican to tower
To heaven, nor like great Philip's greater son
To win the world and weep for worlds unwon,
Or lose the star to revel in the flower.
The lives that serve the eternal verities
Alone do mould mankind. Pleasure and pride
Sparkle awhile and perish, as the spray
Smoking across the crests of cavernous seas
Is impotent to hasten or delay
The everlasting surges of the tide.
John Hall Ingham.
On September 19, 1796, Washington issued his "farewell address," declining a third term as President.
WASHINGTON
Where may the wearied eye repose
When gazing on the Great;
Where neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?
Yes—one—the first—the last—the best—
The Cincinnatus of the West,
Whom envy dared not hate,
Bequeath the name of Washington,
To make men blush there was but one!
Lord Byron.
The election was held on November 8, 1796, and the electoral votes were counted February 8, 1797. John Adams received seventy-one, Thomas Jefferson sixty-eight, Thomas Pinckney fifty-nine, and Aaron Burr thirty. Adams assumed office March 4, 1797. Relations with both France and England had become more than ever strained, and a war, especially with the former, seemed certain. These circumstances gave birth to one of the most popular political songs ever written in America.
[1798]
Ye sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought
For those rights which unstained from your sires have descended,
May you long taste the blessings your valor has bought,
And your sons reap the soil which their fathers defended.
'Mid the reign of mild peace,
May your nation increase,
With the glory of Rome and the wisdom of Greece;
And ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
In a clime, whose rich vales feed the marts of the world,
Whose shores are unshaken by Europe's commotion,
The trident of commerce should never be hurl'd,
To incense the legitimate powers of the ocean.
But should pirates invade,
Though in thunder array'd,
Let your cannon declare the free charter of trade.
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway,
Had justly ennobled our nation in story,
Till the dark clouds of faction obscured our young day,
And enveloped the sun of American glory.
But let traitors be told,
Who their country have sold,
And barter'd their God for his image in gold,
That ne'er will the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood,
And society's base threats with wide dissolution;
May peace, like the dove who return'd from the flood,
Find an ark of abode in our mild constitution.
But, though peace is our aim,
Yet the boon we disclaim,
If bought by our sovereignty, justice, or fame;
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
'Tis the fire of the flint, each American warms:
Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collision,
Let them bring all the vassals of Europe in arms,
We're a world by ourselves, and disdain a division.
While, with patriot pride,
To our laws we're allied,
No foe can subdue us, no faction divide,
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
Our mountains are crown'd with imperial oak;
Whose roots, like our liberties, ages have nourish'd;
But long ere our nation submits to the yoke,
Not a tree shall be left on the field where it flourish'd.
Should invasion impend,
Every grove would descend,
From the hill-tops, they shaded, our shores to defend.
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
Let our patriots destroy Anarch's pestilent worm;
Lest our liberty's growth should be check'd by corrosion;
Then let clouds thicken round us; we heed not the storm;
Our realm fears no shock, but the earth's own explosion.
Foes assail us in vain,
Though their fleets bridge the main,
For our altars and laws with our lives we'll maintain.
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
Should the tempest of war overshadow our land,
Its bolts could ne'er rend Freedom's temple asunder;
For, unmov'd, at its portal, would Washington stand,
And repulse, with his breast, the assaults of the thunder!
His sword from the sleep
Of its scabbard would leap,
And conduct, with its point, every flash to the deep!
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
Let fame to the world sound America's voice;
No intrigues can her sons from their government sever;
Her pride is her Adams; her laws are his choice,
And shall flourish, till Liberty slumbers forever.
Then unite heart and hand,
Like Leonidas' band,
And swear to the God of the ocean and land,
That ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
Robert Treat Paine.
On May 28, 1798, Congress authorized a provisional army of ten thousand men and empowered the President to instruct the commanders of American ships of war to seize French armed vessels attacking American merchantmen, or hovering about the coast for that purpose. Public excitement ran high, and when Hopkinson's "Hail Columbia" was sung one night at a Philadelphia theatre, it met with instantaneous success.
[First sung at the Chestnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, May, 1798]
Hail! Columbia, happy land!
Hail! ye heroes, heav'n-born band,
Who fought and bled in freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone,
Enjoyed the peace your valor won;
Let independence be your boast,
Ever mindful what it cost,
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies.
Chorus—Firm, united let us be,
Rallying round our liberty,
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.
Immortal patriots, rise once more!
Defend your rights, defend your shore;
Let no rude foe with impious hand,
Let no rude foe with impious hand
Invade the shrine where sacred lies
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize;
While offering peace, sincere and just,
In heav'n we place a manly trust,
That truth and justice may prevail,
And ev'ry scheme of bondage fail.
Sound, sound the trump of fame!
Let Washington's great name
Ring thro' the world with loud applause!
Ring thro' the world with loud applause!
Let ev'ry clime to freedom dear
Listen with a joyful ear;
With equal skill, with steady pow'r,
He governs in the fearful hour
Of horrid war, or guides with ease
The happier time of honest peace.
Behold the chief, who now commands,
Once more to serve his country stands,
The rock on which the storm will beat!
The rock on which the storm will beat!
But armed in virtue, firm and true,
His hopes are fixed on heav'n and you.
When hope was sinking in dismay,
When gloom obscured Columbia's day,
His steady mind, from changes free,
Resolved on death or liberty.
Joseph Hopkinson.
Word crossed the ocean that Napoleon was gathering a great fleet at Toulon and it was generally believed that he intended to invade America. The fleet, of course, was intended for his expedition to Egypt, and the idea that he hoped to conquer America seems ludicrous enough, but some verses written by Thomas Green Fessenden in July, 1798, show how seriously it was entertained.
AN ODE
[July, 1798]
Ye sons of Columbia, unite in the cause
Of liberty, justice, religion, and laws;
Should foes then invade us, to battle we'll hie,
For the God of our fathers will be our ally!
Let Frenchmen advance,
And all Europe join France,
Designing our conquest and plunder;
United and free
Forever we'll be,
And our cannon shall tell them in thunder,
That foes to our freedom we'll ever defy,
Till the continent sinks, and the ocean is dry!
When Britain assail'd us, undaunted we stood,
Defended the land we had purchas'd with blood,
Our liberty won, and it shall be our boast,
If the old world united should menace our coast:—
Should millions invade,
In terrour array'd,
Our liberties bid us surrender,
Our country they'd find
With bayonets lin'd,
And Washington here to defend her,
For foes to our freedom we'll ever defy
Till the continent sinks, and the ocean is dry!
Should Buonapart' come with his sans culotte band,
And a new sort of freedom we don't understand,
And make us an offer to give us as much
As France has bestow'd on the Swiss and the Dutch,
His fraud and his force
Will be futile of course;
We wish for no Frenchified Freedom:
If folks beyond sea
Are to bid us be free,
We'll send for them when we shall need 'em.
But sans culotte Frenchmen we'll ever defy,
Till the continent sinks, and the ocean is dry!
We're anxious that Peace may continue her reign,
We cherish the virtues which sport in her train;
Our hearts ever melt, when the fatherless sigh,
And we shiver at Horrour's funereal cry!
But still, though we prize
That child of the skies,
We'll never like slaves be accosted.
In a war of defence
Our means are immense,
And we'll fight till our all is exhausted:
For foes to our freedom we'll ever defy,
Till the continent sinks, and the ocean is dry!
The eagle of freedom with rapture behold,
Overshadow our land with his plumage of gold!
The flood-gates of glory are open on high,
And Warren and Mercer descend from the sky!
They come from above
With a message of love,
To bid us be firm and decided;
"At Liberty's call,
Unite one and all,
For you conquer, unless you're divided.
Unite, and the foes to your freedom defy,
Till the continent sinks and the ocean is dry!
"Americans, seek no occasion for war;
The rude deeds of rapine still ever abhor:
But if in defence of your rights you should arm,
Let toils ne'er discourage, nor dangers alarm.
For foes to your peace
Will ever increase,
If freedom and fame you should barter,
Let those rights be yours,
While nature endures,
For Omnipotence gave you the charter!"
Then foes to our freedom we'll ever defy,
Till the continent sinks, and the ocean is dry!
Thomas Green Fessenden.
Though there was to be no invasion to repel, the new navy was soon to win its spurs. On February 9, 1799, the Constellation, Captain Truxton, sighted the 36-gun frigate, Insurgente, off St. Kitts, in the West Indies, and promptly gave chase. The Frenchman was overhauled about the middle of the afternoon, and after a fierce engagement was forced to surrender. Two months later, Napoleon agreed to receive the American envoy "with the respect due a powerful nation," and all danger of war was soon over.
TRUXTON'S VICTORY
[February 9, 1799]
When Freedom, fair Freedom, her banner display'd,
Defying each foe whom her rights would invade,
Columbia's brave sons swore those rights to maintain,
And o'er ocean and earth to establish her reign;
United they cry,
While that standard shall fly,
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
Tho' Gallia through Europe has rushed like a flood,
And deluged the earth with an ocean of blood:
While by faction she's led, while she's governed by knaves,
We court not her smiles, and will ne'er be her slaves;
Her threats we defy,
While our standard shall fly,
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
Tho' France with caprice dares our Statesmen upbraid,
A tribute demands, or sets bounds to our trade;
From our young rising Navy our thunders shall roar,
And our Commerce extend to the earth's utmost shore.
Our cannon we'll ply,
While our standard shall fly;
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
To know we're resolved, let them think on the hour,
When Truxton, brave Truxton off Nevis's shore,
His ship mann'd for battle, the standard unfurl'd,
And at the Insurgente defiance he hurled;
And his valiant tars cry,
While our standard shall fly,
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
Each heart beat exulting, inspir'd by the cause;
They fought for their country, their freedom and laws;
From their cannon loud volleys of vengeance they pour'd,
And the standard of France to Columbia was lower'd.
Huzza! they now cry,
Let the Eagle wave high;
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
Then raise high the strain, pay the tribute that's due
To the fair Constellation, and all her brave Crew;
Be Truxton revered, and his name be enrolled,
'Mongst the chiefs of the ocean, the heroes of old.
Each invader defy,
While such heroes are nigh,
Who always are ready,
Resolved, firm, and steady
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
THE CONSTELLATION AND THE INSURGENTE
[February 9, 1799]
Come all ye Yankee sailors, with swords and pikes advance,
'Tis time to try your courage and humble haughty France,
The sons of France our seas invade,
Destroy our commerce and our trade,
'Tis time the reck'ning should be paid!
To brave Yankee boys.
On board the Constellation, from Baltimore we came,
We had a bold commander and Truxton was his name!
Our ship she mounted forty guns,
And on the main so swiftly runs,
To prove to France Columbia's sons
Are brave Yankee boys.
We sailed to the West Indies in order to annoy
The invaders of our commerce, to burn, sink, and destroy;
Our Constellation shone so bright,
The Frenchmen could not bear the sight,
And away they scamper'd in affright,
From the brave Yankee boys.
'Twas on the 9th of February, at Montserrat we lay,
And there we spy'd the Insurgente just at the break of day,
We raised the orange and the blue,
To see if they our signals knew,
The Constellation and her crew
Of brave Yankee boys.
Then all hands were called to quarters, while we pursued in chase,
With well-prim'd guns, our tompions out, well spliced the main brace.
Soon to the French we did draw nigh,
Compelled to fight, they were, or fly,
The word was passed, "Conquer or die,"
My brave Yankee boys.
Lord! our Cannons thunder'd with peals tremendous roar,
And death upon our bullets' wings that drenched their decks with gore,
The blood did from their scuppers run,
Their chief exclaimed, "We are undone!"
Their flag they struck, the battle won,
By the brave Yankee boys.
Then to St. Kitts we steered, we bro't her safe in port,
The grand salute was fired and answered from the fort,
John Adams in full bumpers toast,
George Washington, Columbia's boast,
And now "the girl we love the most!"
My brave Yankee boys.
1813.
On December 14, 1799, George Washington died at Mount Vernon after an illness lasting only a few days. The funeral took place four days later, with only such ceremonials as the immediate neighborhood provided.
WASHINGTON'S MONUMENT
For him who sought his country's good
In plains of war, mid scenes of blood;
Who, in the dubious battle's fray,
Spent the warm noon of life's bright day,
That to a world he might secure
Rights that forever shall endure,
Rear the monument of fame!
Deathless is the hero's name.
For him, who, when the war was done,
And victory sure, and freedom won,
Left glory's theatre, the field,
The olive branch of peace to wield;
And proved, when at the helm of state,
Though great in war, in peace as great;
Rear the monument of fame!
Deathless is the hero's name!
For him, whose worth, though unexpress'd,
Lives cherish'd in each freeman's breast,
Whose name, to patriot souls so dear,
Time's latest children shall revere,
Whose brave achievements praised shall be,
While beats one breast for liberty;
Rear the monument of fame!
Deathless is the hero's name!
But why for him vain marbles raise?
Can the cold sculpture speak his praise?
Illustrious shade! we can proclaim
Our gratitude, but not thy fame.
Long as Columbia shall be free,
She lives a monument of thee;
And may she ever rise in fame,
To honor thy immortal name!
Since 1785 it had been necessary to protect American commerce from the Barbary corsairs by paying tribute, but their demands grew so exorbitant that war was at last declared against Tripoli, and a squadron dispatched to the Mediterranean. One of this squadron was the Philadelphia, which ran aground and was captured by the pirates on October 31, 1803. The ship was towed into the harbor of Tripoli and anchored under the guns of the fortress. On the night of February 15, 1804, a party of seventy-five headed by Lieutenants Decatur and Lawrence and Midshipman Bainbridge, entered the harbor, boarded the Philadelphia, drove the Turkish crew overboard, set fire to the ship, and escaped without losing a man, having performed what Lord Nelson called "the most daring act of the age."
HOW WE BURNED THE PHILADELPHIA
[February 15, 1804]
By the beard of the Prophet the Bashaw swore
He would scourge us from the seas;
Yankees should trouble his soul no more—
By the Prophet's beard the Bashaw swore,
Then lighted his hookah, and took his ease,
And troubled his soul no more.
The moon was dim in the western sky,
And a mist fell soft on the sea,
As we slipped away from the Siren brig
And headed for Tripoli.
Behind us the hulk of the Siren lay,
Before us the empty night;
And when again we looked behind
The Siren was gone from our sight.
Nothing behind us, and nothing before,
Only the silence and rain,
As the jaws of the sea took hold of our bows
And cast us up again.
Through the rain and the silence we stole along,
Cautious and stealthy and slow,
For we knew the waters were full of those
Who might challenge the Mastico.
But nothing we saw till we saw the ghost
Of the ship we had come to see,
Her ghostly lights and her ghostly frame
Rolling uneasily.
And as we looked, the mist drew up
And the moon threw off her veil,
And we saw the ship in the pale moonlight,
Ghostly and drear and pale.
Then spoke Decatur low and said:
"To the bulwarks shadow all!
But the six who wear the Tripoli dress
Shall answer the sentinel's call."
"What ship is that?" cried the sentinel.
"No ship," was the answer free;
"But only a Malta ketch in distress
Wanting to moor in your lee.
"We have lost our anchor, and wait for day
To sail into Tripoli town,
And the sea rolls fierce and high to-night,
So cast a cable down."
Then close to the frigate's side we came,
Made fast to her unforbid—
Six of us bold in the heathen dress,
The rest of us lying hid.
But one who saw us hiding there
"Americano!" cried.
Then straight we rose and made a rush
Pellmell up the frigate's side.
Less than a hundred men were we,
And the heathen were twenty score;
But a Yankee sailor in those old days
Liked odds of one to four.
And first we cleaned the quarter-deck,
And then from stern to stem
We charged into our enemies
And quickly slaughtered them.
All around was the dreadful sound
Of corpses striking the sea,
And the awful shrieks of dying men
In their last agony.
The heathen fought like devils all,
But one by one they fell,
Swept from the deck by our cutlasses
To the water, and so to hell.
Some we found in the black of the hold,
Some to the fo'c's'le fled,
But all in vain; we sought them out
And left them lying dead;
Till at last no soul but Christian souls
Upon that ship was found;
The twenty score were dead, and we,
The hundred, safe and sound.
And, stumbling over the tangled dead,
The deck a crimson tide,
We fired the ship from keel to shrouds
And tumbled over the side.
Then out to sea we sailed once more
With the world as light as day,
And the flames revealed a hundred sail
Of the heathen there in the bay.
All suddenly the red light paled,
And the rain rang out on the sea;
Then—a dazzling flash, a deafening roar,
Between us and Tripoli!
Then, nothing behind us, and nothing before,
Only the silence and rain;
And the jaws of the sea took hold of our bows
And cast us up again.
By the beard of the Prophet the Bashaw swore
He would scourge us from the seas;
Yankees should trouble his soul no more—
By the Prophet's beard the Bashaw swore,
Then lighted his hookah and took his ease,
And troubled his soul no more.
Barrett Eastman.
Arrangements were made to bombard the port and a concerted attack was made August 3, 1804. Two gunboats were captured and three sunk, and the shore batteries badly damaged. Attack after attack followed, and the war was finally ended by Tripoli renouncing all claim to tribute and releasing all American prisoners. It was during the first assault that Reuben James saved Decatur's life.
REUBEN JAMES
[August 3, 1804]
Three ships of war had Preble when he left the Naples shore,
And the knightly king of Naples lent him seven galleys more,
And never since the Argo floated in the middle sea
Such noble men and valiant have sailed in company
As the men who went with Preble to the siege of Tripoli.
Stewart, Bainbridge, Hull, Decatur—how their names ring out like gold!—
Lawrence, Porter, Trippe, Macdonough, and a score as true and bold;
Every star that lights their banner tells the glory that they won;
But one common sailor's glory is the splendor of the sun.
Reuben James was first to follow when Decatur laid aboard
Of the lofty Turkish galley and in battle broke his sword.
Then the pirate captain smote him, till his blood was running fast,
And they grappled and they struggled, and they fell beside the mast.
Close behind him Reuben battled with a dozen, undismayed,
Till a bullet broke his sword-arm, and he dropped the useless blade.
Then a swinging Turkish sabre clove his left and brought him low,
Like a gallant bark, dismasted, at the mercy of the foe.
Little mercy knows the corsair: high his blade was raised to slay,
When a richer prize allured him where Decatur struggling lay.
"Help!" the Turkish leader shouted, and his trusty comrade sprung,
And his scimetar like lightning o'er the Yankee captain swung.
Reuben James, disabled, armless, saw the sabre flashed on high,
Saw Decatur shrink before it, heard the pirate's taunting cry,
Saw, in half the time I tell it, how a sailor brave and true
Still might show a bloody pirate what a dying man can do.
Quick he struggled, stumbling, sliding in the blood around his feet,
As the Turk a moment waited to make vengeance doubly sweet.
Swift the sabre fell, but swifter bent the sailor's head below,
And upon his 'fenceless forehead Reuben James received the blow!
So was saved our brave Decatur; [so the common sailor died];
So the love that moves the lowly lifts the great to fame and pride.
Yet we grudge him not his honors, for whom love like this had birth—
For God never ranks His sailors by the Register of earth!
James Jeffrey Roche.
In the spring of 1808 the schooner Betsy, of Marblehead, commanded by "Skipper Ireson," sighted a wreck while passing Cape Cod on her way home from the West Indies. It was dark at the time, and the sea was running high, so that she was unable to render any assistance. Another vessel soon afterwards rescued the people on the wreck, and they reached shore in season for news of the occurrence to reach Marblehead before the Betsy's arrival. A crowd met the vessel at the wharf, and the sailors, when called to account, protested that Ireson would not let them go to the relief of the wrecked vessel. The mob thereupon seized the unfortunate skipper, and putting him into an old dory, started to drag him to Beverly, where they said he belonged, in order to show him to his own people.
[1808]
Of all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme,—
On Apuleius's Golden Ass,
Or one-eyed Calender's horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human back,
Islam's prophet on Al-Borák,—
The strangest ride that ever was sped
Was Ireson's out from Marblehead!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Body of turkey, head of fowl,
Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,
Feathered and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.
Scores of women, old and young,
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,
Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,
Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,
Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase
Bacchus round some antique vase,
Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,
With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang,
Over and over the Mænads sang:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Small pity for him!—He sailed away
From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay,—
Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
With his own town's-people on her deck!
"Lay by! lay by!" they called to him.
Back he answered, "Sink or swim!
Brag of your catch of fish again!"
And off he sailed through the fog and rain!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur
That wreck shall lie forevermore.
Mother and sister, wife and maid,
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead
Over the moaning and rainy sea,—
Looked for the coming that might not be!
What did the winds and the sea-birds say
Of the cruel captain who sailed away?—
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Through the street, on either side,
Up flew windows, doors swung wide;
Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray,
Treble lent the fish-horn's bray.
Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound,
Hulks of old sailors run aground,
Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane,
And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Sweetly along the Salem road
Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.
Little the wicked skipper knew
Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.
Riding there in his sorry trim,
Like an Indian idol glum and grim,
Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear
Of voices shouting, far and near:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
"Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried,—
"What to me is this noisy ride?
What is the shame that clothes the skin
To the nameless horror that lives within?
Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck,
And hear a cry from a reeling deck!
Hate me and curse me,—I only dread
The hand of God and the face of the dead!"
Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea
Said, "God has touched him! why should we!"
Said an old wife mourning her only son,
"Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!"
So with soft relentings and rude excuse,
Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose,
And gave him a cloak to hide him in,
And left him alone with his shame and sin.
Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
John Greenleaf Whittier.
Later investigation proved that Ireson was in no way responsible for the abandonment of the disabled ship, and that his crew had lied in order to save themselves.
A PLEA FOR FLOOD IRESON
[1808]
Old Flood Ireson! all too long
Have jeer and gibe and ribald song
Done thy memory cruel wrong.
Old Flood Ireson, bending low
Under the weight of years and woe,
Crept to his refuge long ago.
Old Flood Ireson sleeps in his grave;
Howls of a mad mob, worse than the wave,
Now no more in his ear shall rave!
* * * * *
Gone is the pack and gone the prey,
Yet old Flood Ireson's ghost to-day
Is hunted still down Time's highway.
Old wife Fame, with a fish-horn's blare
Hooting and tooting the same old air,
Drags him along the old thoroughfare.
Mocked evermore with the old refrain,
Skilfully wrought to a tuneful strain,
Jingling and jolting he comes again
Over that road of old renown,
Fair broad avenue, leading down
Through South Fields to Salem town,
Scourged and stung by the Muses' thong,
Mounted high on the car of song,
Sight that cries, O Lord! how long
Shall heaven look on and not take part
With the poor old man and his fluttering heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart?
Old Flood Ireson, now when Fame
Wipes away with tears of shame
Stains from many an injured name,
Shall not, in the tuneful line,
Beams of truth and mercy shine
Through the clouds that darken thine?
Take henceforth, perturbèd sprite,
From the fever and the fright,
Take the rest,—thy well-earned right.
Along the track of that hard ride
The form of Penitence oft shall glide,
With tender Pity by her side;
And their tears, that mingling fall
On the dark record they recall,
Shall cleanse the stain and expiate all.
Charles Timothy Brooks.