CHAPTER II
THE SECOND WAR WITH ENGLAND
The treaty of peace with England which closed the Revolution provided for the payment of English creditors and the restoration of confiscated estates, but the individual states refused to carry out this agreement, and England, in consequence, retained possession of some of the Western posts. To this were soon added other causes of annoyance, principal among which was the right claimed by England to impress into her service seamen of British birth, wherever found, and to stop and search the ships of the United States for this purpose.
Ye brave sons of Freedom, come join in the chorus,
At the dangers of war do not let us repine,
But sing and rejoice at the prospect before us,
And drink it success in a bumper of wine.
At the call of the nation,
Let each to his station,
And resist depredation,
Which our country degrades;
Ere the conflict is over,
Our rights we'll recover,
Or punish whoever
Our honor invades.
We're abused and insulted, our country's degraded,
Our rights are infringed both by land and by sea;
Let us rouse up, indignant, when those rights are invaded,
And announce to the world, "We're united and free!"
By our navy's protection
We'll make our election,
And in every direction
Our trade shall be free;
No British oppression,
No Gallic aggression
Shall disturb the possession
We claim to the sea.
Then Columbia's ships shall sail on the ocean,
And the nations of Europe respect us at last:
Our stars and our stripes shall command their devotion,
And Liberty perch on the top of the mast.
Though Bona and John Bull
Continue their long pull,
Till ambition's cup-full
Be drain'd to the lees;
By wisdom directed,
By tyrants respected,
By cannon protected,
We'll traverse the seas.
Though vile combinations to sever the Union
Be projected with caution and managed with care,
Though traitors and Britons, in sweetest communion,
Their patriot virtue unite and compare,
American thunder
Shall rend it asunder,
And ages shall wonder
At the deeds we have done:
And every Tory
When he hears of the story,
Shall repine at the glory
Our heroes have won.
Let local attachments be condemn'd and discarded,
Distrust and suspicion be banish'd the mind,
Let union, our safety, be ever regarded,
When improved by example, by virtue refined.
Our ancestors brought it,
Our sages have taught it,
Our Washington bought it,
'Tis our glory and boast!
No factions shall ever
Our government sever,
But "Union forever,"
Shall be our last toast.
Measures so outrageous made war seemingly inevitable; but Washington, through the Jay Treaty, managed to patch up a peace. In 1805 England, hard-pressed by Napoleon, again asserted the "right of search," and her war-vessels stopped merchantmen and cruisers alike and took off all persons whom the British commanders chose to regard as British subjects. Congress retaliated by prohibiting commerce with England. The embargo went into effect in January, 1808, and aroused sectional feeling to such an extent that New England threatened secession from the Union.
REPARATION OR WAR
WRITTEN DURING THE EMBARGO
Rejoice, rejoice, brave patriots, rejoice!
Our martial sons take a bold and manly stand!
Rejoice, rejoice, exulting raise your voice,
Let union pervade our happy land.
The altar of Liberty shall never be polluted,
But freedom expand and flourish, firm and deeply rooted.
Our eagle, towering high,
Triumphantly shall fly,
While men like Jefferson preside to serve their country!
Huzza! huzza! boys, etc., etc.
With firmness we'll resent our wrongs sustain'd at sea;
Huzza! huzza! etc., etc.
For none but slaves will bend to tyranny.
To arms, to arms, with ardor rush to arms,
Our injured rights have long for vengeance cried.
To arms, to arms, prepare for war's alarms,
If honest reparation be denied.
Though feeble counteracting plans, or foreign combinations,
May interdict awhile our trade, against the law of nations,
The embargo on supplies
Shall open Europe's eyes;
Proclaiming unto all the world, "Columbia will be free."
Huzza! huzza! etc., etc.
With honor we'll maintain a just neutrality.
Huzza! huzza! etc., etc.
For none but slaves will bend to tyranny.
Defend, defend, ye heroes and ye sages,
The gift divine—your independency!
Transmit with joy, down to future ages,
How Washington achieved your liberty.
When freemen are insulted, they send forth vengeful thunder,
Determined to maintain their rights, strike the foe with wonder.
They cheerfully will toil,
To cultivate the soil,
And rather live on humble fare than feast ignobly.
Huzza! huzza! etc., etc.
United, firm we stand, invincible and free,
Huzza! huzza! etc., etc.
Then none but slaves shall bend to tyranny.
The opponents of the embargo termed the conflict a "terrapin war,"—the nation, by extinguishing commerce, drawing within its own shell like a terrapin; and at gatherings of the Federalists, a song by that title was very popular.
TERRAPIN WAR
Huzza for our liberty, boys,
These are the days of our glory—
The days of true national joys,
When terrapins gallop before ye!
There's Porter and Grundy and Rhea,
In Congress who manfully vapor,
Who draw their six dollars a day,
And fight bloody battles on paper!
Ah! this is true Terrapin war.
Poor Madison the tremors has got,
'Bout this same arming the nation;
Too far to retract, he cannot
Go on—and he loses his station.
Then bring up your "regulars," lads,
In "attitude" nothing ye lack, sirs,
Ye'll frighten to death the Danads,
With fire-coals blazing aback, sirs!
Oh, this is true Terrapin war!
As to powder and bullets and swords,
For, as they were never intended,
They're a parcel of high-sounding words,
But never to action extended.
Ye must frighten the rascals away,
In "rapid descent" on their quarters;
Then the plunder divide as ye may,
And drive them headlong in the waters.
Oh, this is great Terrapin war!
But the hostility to Great Britain grew steadily more bitter, and the war party was led by such able men as Henry Clay and John C. Calhoun. Various incidents tended to fan the flames, and on June 18, 1812, war was declared.
FAREWELL, PEACE
[June 18, 1812]
Farewell, Peace! another crisis
Calls us to "the last appeal,"
Made when monarchs and their vices
Leave no argument but steel.
When injustice and oppression
Dare avow the tyrant's plea.
Who would recommend submission?
Virtue bids us to be free.
History spreads her page before us,
Time unrolls his ample scroll;
Truth unfolds them, to assure us,
States, united, ne'er can fall.
See, in annals Greek and Roman,
What immortal deeds we find;
When those gallant sons of woman
In their country's cause combined.
Sons of Freedom! brave descendants
From a race of heroes tried,
To preserve our independence
Let all Europe be defied.
Let not all the world, united,
Rob us of one sacred right:
Every patriot heart's delighted
In his country's cause to fight.
Come then, War! with hearts elated
To thy standard we will fly;
Every bosom animated
Either to live free or die.
May the wretch that shrinks from duty,
Or deserts the glorious strife,
Never know the smile of beauty,
Nor the blessing of a wife.
The Federalists claimed that war had been declared, not to avenge the country's wrongs upon the ocean, but to conquer Canada. Canada was, indeed, the first objective, and troops were enlisted and hurried forward to the various northern posts.
COME, YE LADS, WHO WISH TO SHINE
Come, ye lads, who wish to shine
Bright in future story,
Haste to arms, and form the line
That leads to martial glory.
Beat the drum, the trumpet sound,
Manly and united,
Danger face, maintain your ground,
And see your country righted.
Columbia, when her eagle's roused,
And her flag is rearing
Will always find her sons disposed
To drub the foe that's daring.
Beat the drum, etc.
Hearts of oak, protect the coast,
Pour your naval thunder,
While on shore a mighty host
Shall strike the world with wonder.
Beat the drum, etc.
Haste to Quebec's towering walls,
Through the British regions;
Hark! Montgomery's spirit calls,
Drive the hostile legions.
Beat the drum, etc.
Honor for the brave to share
Is the noblest booty;
Guard your rights, protect the fair,
For that's a soldier's duty.
Beat the drum, etc.
Charge the musket, point the lance,
Brave the worst of dangers;
Tell to Britain and to France,
That we to fear are strangers.
Beat the drum, etc.
The Canadian campaign was soon to end ignominiously enough. In July, General Hull, governor of Michigan territory, crossed from Detroit into Canada, then crossed back again, and on August 16, without striking a blow, surrendered Detroit and his entire army to the British under General Brock. Hull was afterwards tried by court-martial, convicted of cowardice, and sentenced to be shot, but the sentence was commuted.
[HULL'S SURRENDER]
OR, VILLANY SOMEWHERE
[August 16, 1812]
Ye Columbians so bold, attend while I sing;
Sure treason and treachery's not quite the thing,
At a time like the present, we ought, one and all,
In defence of our rights, to stand nobly or fall.
Chorus
Then let traitors be banish'd Columbia's fair shore,
And treason be known in her borders no more.
With a brave, gallant army Hull went to Detroit,
And swore he'd accomplish a noble exploit;
That the British and Indians he'd conquer outright,
And give cause to his country of joy and delight.
Chorus
But if traitors still dwell on Columbia's fair shore,
O let it be known in her borders no more.
Ah! quickly alas! defeat and disgrace
Star'd our brave noble soldiers quite full in the face,
When they thought that the victory was sure to be won,
Their general gave up, without firing a gun.
Chorus
Then do traitors still dwell on Columbia's fair shore,
If they do, let them dwell in her borders no more!
Those heroes, who bravely on the Wabash had fought,
Who for glory successfully nobly had sought,
Where the favor denied of asserting their wrongs,
And deprived of that right which to freemen belongs.
Chorus
Then if treason still dwell on Columbia's fair shore,
O let it be known in her borders no more!
Is it true that our soldiers were wrongfully us'd?
Is it true that they've been by their General abus'd?
Is it true that an army so gallant were sold?
Is it true that Columbians were barter'd for gold?
Chorus
If it is, then does treason still dwell on our shore,
But let it be known in our country no more!
Ye heroes who fought by the side of brave Floyd,
Ye heroes, conducted to glory by Boyd,
Think not that your brethren will quietly bear,
From your brows that a traitor your laurels should tear.
Chorus
No—if treason still dwell on Columbia's fair shore,
It shall soon be expell'd to reside here no more.
Then rouse ye brave freemen, and heed no alarms,
Your dear native country now calls you to arms,
Away to the battle, and count not the cost
Till the glory you gain, which so basely was lost.
Chorus
For if treason still dwell on Columbia's fair shore,
By our fathers we swear it shall dwell here no more.
The fury which the news of this disaster aroused was tempered by rejoicing for a remarkable victory on the ocean. Anxious to meet some of the famous British frigates, Captain Isaac Hull put out from Boston with the Constitution on August 2. He sailed without orders, and had the cruise resulted disastrously, he would probably have been court-martialed and shot. On the afternoon of August 19, a sail was sighted off Halifax and proved to be the British frigate Guerrière. Hull at once attacked, and soon reduced the enemy to a "perfect wreck." The Constitution sustained little injury and got safely back to port.
THE CONSTITUTION AND THE GUERRIÈRE
[August 19, 1812]
I often have been told
That the British seamen bold
Could beat the tars of France neat and handy O;
But they never found their match,
Till the Yankees did them catch,
For the Yankee tars for fighting are the dandy O.
O, the Guerrière so bold
On the foaming ocean rolled,
[Commanded by Dacres the grandee O];
For the choice of British crew
That a rammer ever drew
Could beat the Frenchmen two to one quite handy O.
When the frigate hove in view,
"O," said Dacres to his crew,
"Prepare ye for action and be handy O;
On the weather-gauge we'll get her."
And to make his men fight better,
He gave to them gunpowder and good brandy O.
Now this boasting Briton cries,
"Make that Yankee ship your prize,
You can in thirty minutes do it handy O,
Or twenty-five, I'm sure
You'll do it in a score,
I will give you a double share of good brandy O.
"When prisoners we've made them,
With switchell we will treat them,
We will treat them with 'Yankee Doodle Dandy' O;"
The British balls flew hot,
But the Yankees answered not,
Until they got a distance that was handy O.
"O," cried Hull unto his crew,
"We'll try what we can do;
If we beat those boasting Britons we're the dandy O."
The first broadside we poured
Brought the mizzen by the board,
Which doused the royal ensign quite handy O.
O Dacres he did sigh,
And to his officers did cry,
"I did not think these Yankees were so handy O."
The second told so well
That the fore and main-mast fell,
Which made this lofty frigate look quite handy O.
"O," says Dacres, "we're undone,"
So he fires a lee gun.
Our drummer struck up "Yankee Doodle Dandy" O;
When Dacres came on board
To deliver up his sword,
He was loth to part with it, it looked so handy O.
"You may keep it," says brave Hull.
"What makes you look so dull?
Cheer up and take a glass of good brandy O;"
O Britons now be still,
Since we've hooked you in the gill,
Don't boast upon Dacres the grandee O.
HALIFAX STATION
[August 19, 1812]
From Halifax station a bully there came,
To take or be taken, call'd Dacres by name:
But 'twas who but a Yankee he met on his way—
Says the Yankee to him, "Will you stop and take tea?"
Then Dacres steps up, thus addressing his crew:—
"Don't you see that d—d flag that is red, white, and blue;
Let us drum all to quarters, prepare for to fight,
For in taking that ship boys, it will make me a knight."
Then up to each mast-head he straight sent a flag,
Which shows, on the ocean, a proud British brag;
But Hull, being pleasant, he sent up but one,
And told every seaman to stand true to his gun.
Then Hull, like a hero, before them appears,
And with a short speech his sailors he cheers,
Saying, "We'll batter their sides, and we'll do the neat thing:
We'll conquer their bully, and laugh at their king."
Then we off with our hats and gave him a cheer,
Swore we'd stick by brave Hull, while a seaman could steer;
And at it we went with mutual delight,
For to fight and to conquer's a sailor's free right.
Then we crowded all sail, and we ran alongside,
And we wellfed our bull-dogs with true Yankee pride.
'Twas broadside for broadside we on them did pour,
While cannon's loud mouths at each other did roar.
Says Dacres, "Fight on, and we'll have her in tow,
We will drink to Great Britain, and the cans they shall flow;
So strike, you d—d Yankee, I'll make you with ease:"
But the man they call Hull, says, "O no, if you please."
Then Dacres wore ship, expecting to rake;
But quite in a hurry, found out his mistake;
For we luff'd round his bow, boys, and caught his jib-boom,
And, in raking them aft, we soon gave him his doom.
Then Dacres look'd wild, and then sheath'd his sword,
When he found that his masts were all gone by the board,
And dropping astern cries out to the steward,
"Come up and be d—d, fire a gun to the leeward."
Then we off with our hats, and we gave them three cheers,
Which bitterly stung all those Englishmen's ears;
Saying, "We'll fight for our country, do all things that's right,
And let the world know, that green Yankees can fight."
ON THE CAPTURE OF THE GUERRIÈRE
[August 19, 1812]
Long the tyrant of our coast
Reigned the famous Guerrière;
Our little navy she defied,
Public ship and privateer:
On her sails in letters red,
To our captains were displayed
Words of warning, words of dread,
"All who meet me, have a care!
I am England's Guerrière."
On the wide, Atlantic deep
(Not her equal for the fight)
The Constitution, on her way,
Chanced to meet these men of might;
On her sails was nothing said,
But her waist the teeth displayed
That a deal of blood could shed,
Which, if she would venture near,
Would stain the decks of the Guerrière.
Now our gallant ship they met—
And, to struggle with John Bull—
Who had come, they little thought,
Strangers, yet, to Isaac Hull:
Better soon to be acquainted:
Isaac hailed the Lord's anointed—
While the crew the cannon pointed,
And the balls were so directed
With a blaze so unexpected;
Isaac so did maul and rake her
That the decks of Captain Dacre
Were in such a woful pickle
As if death with scythe and sickle,
With his sling, or with his shaft
Had cut his harvest fore and aft.
Thus, in thirty minutes ended,
Mischiefs that could not be mended;
Masts, and yards, and ship descended,
All to David Jones's locker—
Such a ship in such a pucker!
Drink a bout to the Constitution!
She performed some execution,
Did some share of retribution
For the insults of the year
When she took the Guerrière.
May success again await her,
Let who will again command her,
Bainbridge, Rodgers, or Decatur—
Nothing like her can withstand her.
With a crew like that on board her
Who so boldly called "to order"
One bold crew of English sailors,
Long, too long our seamen's jailors,
Dacre and the Guerrière!
Philip Freneau.
FIRSTFRUITS IN 1812
[August 19, 1812]
What is that a-billowing there
Like a thunderhead in air?
Why should such a sight be whitening the seas?
That's a Yankee man-o'-war,
And three things she's seeking for—
For a prize, and for a battle, and a breeze.
When the war blew o'er the sea
Out went Hull and out went we
In the Constitution, looking for the foe;
But five British ships came down—
And we got to Boston-town
By a mighty narrow margin, you must know!
Captain Hull can't fight their fleet,
But he fairly aches to meet
Quite the prettiest British ship of all there were;
So he stands again to sea
In the hope that on his lee
He'll catch Dacres and his pretty Guerrière.
'Tis an August afternoon
Not a day too late or soon,
When we raise a ship whose lettered mainsail reads:
All who meet me have a care,
I am England's Guerrière;
So Hull gayly clears for action as he speeds.
Cheery bells had chanted five
On the happiest day alive
When we Yankees dance to quarters at his call;
While the British bang away
With their broadsides' screech and bray;
But the Constitution never fires a ball.
We send up three times to ask
If we sha'n't begin our task?
Captain Hull sends back each time the answer No;
Till to half a pistol-shot
The two frigates he had brought,
Then he whispers, Lay along!—and we let go.
Twice our broadside lights and lifts,
And the Briton, crippled, drifts
With her mizzen dangling hopeless at her poop:
Laughs a Yankee, She's a brig!
Says our Captain, That's too big;
Try another, so we'll have her for a sloop!
We hurrah, and fire again,
Lay aboard of her like men,
And, like men, they beat us off, and try in turn;
But we drive bold Dacres back
With our muskets' snap and crack—
All the while our crashing broadsides boom and burn.
'Tis but half an hour, bare,
When that pretty Guerrière
Not a stick calls hers aloft or hers alow,
Save the mizzen's shattered mast,
Where her "meteor flag" 's nailed fast
Till, a fallen star, we quench its ruddy glow.
Dacres, injured, o'er our side
Slowly bears his sword of pride,
Holds it out, as Hull stands there in his renown:
No, no! says th' American,
Never, from so brave a man—
But I see you're wounded, let me help you down.
All that night we work in vain
Keeping her upon the main,
But we've hulled her far too often, and at last
In a blaze of fire there
Dies the pretty Guerrière;
While away we cheerly sail upon the blast.
Oh, the breeze that blows so free!
Oh, the prize beneath the sea!
Oh, the battle!—was there ever better won?
Still the happy Yankee cheers
Are a-ringing in our ears
From old Boston, glorying in what we've done.
What is that a-billowing there
Like a thunderhead in air?
Why should such a sight be whitening the seas?
That's Old Ir'nsides, trim and taut,
And she's found the things she sought—
Found a prize, a bully battle, and a breeze!
Wallace Rice.
This victory, needless to say, greatly encouraged the Americans, and General Stephen van Rensselaer, in command of the northern army, determined to try another stroke at Canada. On October 13, 1812, he started to cross the Niagara River with six hundred men; but the crossing was mismanaged, the militia refused to obey orders, and after a gallant fight lasting all day, the Americans were forced to surrender to an overwhelming force of British and Indians.
THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTOWN
[October 13, 1812]
When brave Van Rensselaer cross'd the stream,
Just at the break of day,
Distressing thoughts, a restless dream,
Disturb'd me where I lay.
But all the terrors of the night
Did quickly flee away:
My opening eyes beheld the light,
And hail'd the new-born day.
Soon did the murdering cannon's roar
Put blood in all my veins;
Columbia's sons have trod the shore
Where the proud Britain reigns.
To expose their breast to cannon's ball,
Their country's rights to save,
O what a grief to see them fall!
True heroes, bold and brave!
The musket's flash, the cannon's glow,
Thunder'd and lighten'd round,
Struck dread on all the tawny foe,
And swept them to the ground.
I thought what numbers must be slain,
What weeping widows left!
And aged parents full of pain,
Of every joy bereft.
The naked savage yelling round
Our heroes where they stood,
And every weapon to be found
Was bathed in human blood.
But bold Van Rensselaer, full of wounds,
Was quickly carried back;
Brave Colonel Bloom did next command
The bloody fierce attack.
[Where Brock, the proud insulter], rides
In pomp and splendor great;
Our valiant heroes he derides,
And dared the power of fate.
"Here is a mark for Yankee boys,
So shoot me if you can:"
A Yankee ball soon closed his eyes,
Death found him but a man.
They slaughter'd down the tawny foe,
And Britons that were near;
They dealt out death at every blow,
The battle was severe.
Five battles fought all in one day,
Through four victorious stood,
But ah! the fifth swept all away,
And spilt our heroes' blood.
The tomahawk and scalping-knife
On them did try their skill;
Some wounded, struggling for their life,
Did black barbarians kill.
Brave Wadsworth boldly kept the field
Till their last bullets flew;
Then all were prisoners forced to yield,
What could the general do?
Militia men! O fie for shame!
Thus you your country flee.
'Tis you at last will bear the blame
For loss of victory.
When mild Van Rensselaer did command,
You would not him obey;
But stood spectators on the strand,
To see the bloody fray.
The number kill'd was seventy-four,
Prisoners, seven hundred sixty-nine,
Wounded, two hundred or more,
Who languish'd in great pain.
Some have already lost their lives,
And others like to go;
But few, I fear, will tell their wives
The doleful tale of wo.
William Banker, Jr.
But disasters on land seemed fated to be followed by victories on the water. About noon of October 18, 1812, the American 18-gun sloop of war, Wasp, encountered the 20-gun British brig, Frolic, off Albemarle Sound, and, after a severe action, boarded and compelled her to surrender. Shortly afterwards, a sail hove in sight, which proved to be the British 74, Poictiers, and, running down on the sloops, she seized both the Wasp and her prize and carried them to Bermuda.
THE WASP'S FROLIC
[October 18, 1812]
'Twas on board the sloop of war Wasp, boys,
We set sail from Delaware Bay,
To cruise on Columbia's fair coast, sirs,
Our rights to maintain on the sea.
Three days were not passed on our station,
When the Frolic came up to our view;
Says Jones, "Show the flag of our nation;"
Three cheers were then gave by our crew.
We boldly bore up to this Briton,
Whose cannon began for to roar;
The Wasp soon her stings from her side ran,
When we on them a broadside did pour.
Each sailor stood firm at his quarters,
'Twas minutes past forth and three,
When fifty bold Britons were slaughtered,
Whilst our guns swept their masts in the sea.
Their breasts then with valor still glowing,
Acknowledged the battle we'd won,
On us then bright laurels bestowing,
When to leeward they fired a gun.
On their decks we the twenty guns counted,
With a crew for to answer the same;
Eighteen was the number we mounted,
Being served by the lads of true game.
With the Frolic in tow, we were standing,
All in for Columbia's fair shore;
But fate on our laurels was frowning,
We were taken by a seventy-four.
A more signal victory was soon to be recorded. On the morning of October 25, 1812, near the Canary Islands, the British 38-gun frigate, Macedonian, was overhauled by the American 44, United States, and an hour after the action began, was reduced to a wreck by the terrible fire of the American. A prize crew was put aboard, repaired her, and got her safely to New York.
THE UNITED STATES AND THE MACEDONIAN
[October 25, 1812]
How glows each patriot bosom that boasts a Yankee heart,
To emulate such glorious deeds and nobly take a part;
When sailors with their thund'ring guns,
Prove to the English, French, and Danes
That Neptune's chosen fav'rite sons
Are brave Yankee boys.
The twenty-fifth of October, that glorious happy day,
When we beyond all precedent, from Britons bore the sway,—
'Twas in the ship United States,
Four and forty guns the rates,
That she should rule, decreed the Fates,
And brave Yankee boys.
Decatur and his hardy tars were cruising on the deep,
When off the Western Islands they to and fro did sweep,
The Macedonian they espied,
"Huzza! bravo!" Decatur cried,
"We'll humble Britain's boasted pride,
My brave Yankee boys."
The decks were cleared, the hammocks stowed, the boatswain pipes all hands,
The tompions out, the guns well sponged, the Captain now commands;
The boys who for their country fight,
Their words, "Free Trade and Sailor's Rights!"
Three times they cheered with all their might,
Those brave Yankee boys.
Now chain-shot, grape, and langrage pierce through her oaken sides,
And many a gallant sailor's blood runs purpling in the tides;
While death flew nimbly o'er their decks,
Some lost their legs, and some their necks,
And Glory's wreath our ship be-decks,
For brave Yankee boys.
My boys, the proud St. George's Cross, the stripes above it wave,
And busy are our gen'rous tars, the conquered foe to save,
To Carden then, in tones so bland,
Our Captain cries "Give me your hand,"
Then of the ship who took command
But brave Yankee boys?
Our enemy lost her mizzen, her main and fore-topmast,
For ev'ry shot with death was winged, which slew her men so fast,
That they lost five to one in killed,
And ten to one their blood was spilled,
So Fate decreed and Heaven had willed,
For brave Yankee boys.
Then homeward steered the captive ship, now safe in port she lies,
The old and young with rapture viewed our sailors' noble prize;
Through seas of wine their health we'll drink,
And wish them sweet-hearts, friends, and chink,
Who 'fore they'd strike, will nobly sink
Our brave Yankee boys.
THE UNITED STATES AND MACEDONIAN
[October 25, 1812]
The banner of Freedom high floated unfurled,
While the silver-tipt surges in low homage curled,
Flashing bright round the bow of Decatur's brave bark,
In contest, an "eagle"—in chasing, a "lark."
The bold United States,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield—be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."
All canvas expanded to woo the coy gale,
The ship cleared for action, in chase of a sail;
The foemen in view, every bosom beats high,
All eager for conquest, or ready to die.
Now havoc stands ready, with optics of flame,
And battle-hounds "strain on the start" for the game;
The blood demons rise on the surge for their prey,
While Pity, rejected, awaits the dread fray.
The gay floating streamers of Britain appear,
Waving light on the breeze as the stranger we near;
And now could the quick-sighted Yankee discern
"Macedonian," emblazoned at large on her stern.
She waited our approach, and the contest began,
But to waste ammunition is no Yankee plan;
In awful suspense every match was withheld,
While the bull-dogs of Britain incessantly yelled.
Unawed by her thunders, alongside we came,
While the foe seemed enwrapped in a mantle of flame;
When, prompt to the word, such a flood we return,
That Neptune, aghast, thought his trident would burn.
Now the lightning of battle gleams horridly red,
With a tempest of iron and hail-storm of lead;
And our fire on the foe we so copiously poured,
His mizzen and topmasts soon went by the board.
So fierce and so bright did our flashes aspire,
They thought that their cannon had set us on fire,
"The Yankee's in flames!"—every British tar hears,
And hails the false omen with three hearty cheers.
In seventeen minutes they found their mistake,
And were glad to surrender and fall in our wake;
Her decks were with carnage and blood deluged o'er,
Where welt'ring in blood lay an hundred and four.
But though she was made so completely a wreck,
With blood they had scarcely encrimsoned our deck;
Only five valiant Yankees in the contest were slain,
And our ship in five minutes was fitted again.
Let Britain no longer lay claim to the seas,
For the trident of Neptune is ours, if we please,
While Hull and Decatur and Jones are our boast,
We dare their whole navy to come on our coast.
Rise, tars of Columbia!—and share in the fame,
Which gilds Hull's, Decatur's, and Jones's bright name;
Fill a bumper, and drink, "Here's success to the cause,
But Decatur supremely deserves our applause."
The bold United States,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Shall ne'er be known to yield—be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."
The United States was commanded by Captain Stephen Decatur, and just before she engaged the Macedonian an incident occurred which showed his crew's unbounded confidence in him.
JACK CREAMER
[October 25, 1812]
The boarding nettings are triced for fight;
Pike and cutlass are shining bright;
The boatswain's whistle pipes loud and shrill;
Gunner and topman work with a will;
Rough old sailor and reefer trim
Jest as they stand by the cannon grim;
There's a fighting glint in Decatur's eye,
And brave Old Glory floats out on high.
But many a heart beats fast below
The laughing lips as they near the foe;
For the pluckiest knows, though no man quails,
That the breath of death is filling the sails.
Only one little face is wan;
Only one childish mouth is drawn;
One little heart is sad and sore
To the watchful eye of the Commodore.
Little Jack Creamer, ten years old,
In no purser's book or watch enrolled,
Must mope or skulk while his shipmates fight,—
No wonder his little face is white!
"Why, Jack, old man, so blue and sad?
Afraid of the music?" The face of the lad
With mingled shame and anger burns.
Quick to the Commodore he turns:
"I'm not a coward, but I think if you—
Excuse me, Capt'n, I mean if you knew
(I s'pose it's because I'm young and small)
I'm not on the books! I'm no one at all!
And as soon as this fighting work is done,
And we get our prize-money, every one
Has his share of the plunder—I get none."
"And you're sure we shall take her?" "Sure? Why, sir,
She's only a blessed Britisher!
We'll take her easy enough, I bet;
But glory's all that I'm going to get!"
"Glory! I doubt if I get more,
If I get so much," said the Commodore;
"But faith goes far in the race for fame,
And down on the books shall go your name."
Bravely the little seaman stood
To his post while the scuppers ran with blood,
While grizzled veterans looked and smiled
And gathered new courage from the child;
Till the enemy, crippled in pride and might,
Struck his crimson flag and gave up the fight.
Then little Jack Creamer stood once more
Face to face with the Commodore.
"You have got your glory," he said, "my lad,
And money to make your sweetheart glad.
Now, who may she be?" "My mother, sir;
I want you to send the half to her."
"And the rest?" Jack blushed and hung his head;
"I'll buy some schoolin' with that," he said.
Decatur laughed; then in graver mood:
"The first is the better, but both are good.
Your mother shall never know want while I
Have a ship to sail, or a flag to fly;
And schooling you'll have till all is blue,
But little the lubbers can teach to you."
Midshipman Creamer's story is told—
They did such things in the days of old,
When faith and courage won sure reward,
And the quarter-deck was not triply barred,
To the forecastle hero; for men were men,
And the Nation was close to its Maker then.
James Jeffrey Roche.
Encouraged by these successes, Congress, on January 2, 1813, appropriated $2,500,000 to build four 74-gun ships and six 44-gun ships. England also took them to heart, and toward the end of the month the entire British fleet was sent to blockade the Atlantic coast.
YANKEE THUNDERS
[1813]
Britannia's gallant streamers
Float proudly o'er the tide,
And fairly wave Columbia's stripes,
In battle side by side.
And ne'er did bolder seamen meet,
Where ocean's surges pour;
O'er the tide now they ride,
While the bell'wing thunders roar,
While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,
And the bell'wing thunders roar.
When Yankee meets the Briton,
Whose blood congenial flows,
By Heav'n created to be friends,
By fortune rendered foes;
Hard then must be the battle fray,
Ere well the fight is o'er;
Now they ride, side by side,
While the bell'wing thunders roar,
While her cannon's fire is flashing fast,
And the bell'wing thunders roar.
Still, still, for noble England
Bold D'Acres' streamers fly;
And for Columbia, gallant Hull's
As proudly and as high;
Now louder rings the battle din,
And thick the volumes pour;
Still they ride, side by side,
While the bell'wing thunders roar,
While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,
And the bell'wing thunders roar.
Why lulls Britannia's thunder,
That waked the wat'ry war?
Why stays the gallant Guerrière,
Whose streamers waved so fair?
That streamer drinks the ocean wave,
That warrior's fight is o'er!
Still they ride, side by side,
While the bell'wing thunders roar,
While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,
And the bell'wing thunders roar.
Hark! 'tis the Briton's lee gun!
Ne'er bolder warrior kneeled!
And ne'er to gallant mariners
Did braver seamen yield.
Proud be the sires, whose hardy boys
Then fell to fight no more:
With the brave, mid the wave;
When the cannon's thunders roar,
Their spirits then shall trim the blast,
And swell the thunder's roar.
Vain were the cheers of Britons,
Their hearts did vainly swell,
Where virtue, skill, and bravery
With gallant Morris fell.
That heart so well in battle tried,
Along the Moorish shore,
And again o'er the main,
When Columbia's thunders roar,
Shall prove its Yankee spirit true,
When Columbia's thunders roar.
Hence be our floating bulwark
Those oaks our mountains yield;
'Tis mighty Heaven's plain decree—
Then take the wat'ry field!
To ocean's farthest barrier then
Your whit'ning sail shall pour;
Safe they'll ride o'er the tide,
While Columbia's thunders roar,
While her cannon's fire is flashing fast,
And her Yankee thunders roar.
On March 11, 1813, the little privateer schooner, General Armstrong, Captain Guy R. Champlin, was cruising off Surinam River, when she sighted a sail, and on investigation found it to be a large vessel, apparently a British privateer. Champlin bore down and endeavored to board. The stranger kept off, and, suddenly raising her port covers, disclosed herself as a British 44-gun frigate. For forty-five minutes the Americans stood to their guns and endeavored to dismast the enemy, then gradually drew away and escaped.
THE GENERAL ARMSTRONG
[March 11, 1813]
Come, all you sons of Liberty, that to the seas belong,
It's worth your attention to listen to my song;
The history of a privateer I will detail in full,
That fought a "six-and-thirty" belonging to John Bull.
The General Armstrong she is called, and sailèd from New York,
With all our hearts undaunted, once more to try our luck;
She was a noble vessel, a privateer of fame:
She had a brave commander, George Champlin was his name.
We stood unto the eastward, all with a favoring gale,
In longitude of fifty we spied a lofty sail:
Our mainsail being lower'd and foresail to repair,
Our squaresail being set, my boys, the wind it provèd fair.
We very soon perceivèd the lofty sail to be
Bearing down upon us while we lay under her lee;
All hands we call'd, and sail did make, then splicèd the main-brace,
Night coming on, we sail'd so fast, she soon gave up the chase.
Then to Barbadoes we were bound, our course so well did steer;
We cruisèd there for several days, and nothing did appear.
'Twas on the 11th of March, to windward of Surinam,
We spied a lofty ship, my boys, at anchor near the land;
All hands we call'd to quarters, and down upon her bore,
Thinking 'twas some merchant-ship then lying near the shore.
She quickly weighèd anchor and from us did steer,
And setting her top-gallant sail as if she did us fear,
But soon we were alongside of her, and gave her a gun,
Determinèd to fight, my boys, and not from her to run.
We hoisted up the bloody flag and down upon her bore,
If she did not strike, my boys, no quarters we would show her;
Each man a brace of pistols, a boarding-pike and sword,
We'll give her a broadside, my boys, before we do her board.
All hands at their quarters lay, until we came alongside,
And gave them three hearty cheers, their British courage tried.
The lower ports she had shut in, the Armstrong to decoy,
And quickly she her ports did show, to daunt each Yankee boy.
The first broadside we gave them true, their colors shot away,
Their topsail, haulyards, mizen rigging, main and mizen stay,
Two ports we did knock into one, his starboard quarter tore,
They overboard their wounded flung, while cannons loud did roar.
She wore directly round, my boys, and piped all hands on deck,
For fear that we would board and serve a Yankee trick;
To board a six-and-thirty it was in vain to try,
While the grape, round, and langrage, like hailstones they did fly.
Brave Champlin on the quarter-deck so nobly gave command:
"Fight on, my brave Americans, dismast her if you can."
The round, grape, and star-shot so well did play,
A musket-ball from the maintop brave Champlin low did lay.
His wound was quickly dress'd, while he in his cabin lay;
The doctor, while attending, these words he heard him say:
"Our Yankee flag shall flourish," our noble captain cried,
"Before that we do strike, my boys, we'll sink alongside."
She was a six-and-thirty, and mounted forty-two,
We fought her four glasses, what more then could we do;
Till six brave seamen we had kill'd, which grievèd us full sore,
And thirteen more wounded lay bleeding in their gore.
Our foremast being wounded, and bowsprit likewise;
Our lower rigging fore and aft, and headstay beside;
Our haulyards, braces, bowling, and foretop sheet also,
We found we could not fight her, boys, so from her we did go.
Our foremast proving dangerous, we could not carry sail,
Although we had it fish'd and welded with a chain;
It grieved us to the heart to put up with such abuse,
For this damn'd English frigate had surely spoil'd our cruise.
Here's success attend brave Champlin, his officers and men,
That fought with courage keen, my boys, our lives to defend;
We fought with much superior force, what could we do more?
Then haul'd our wind and stood again for Freedom's happy shore.
On the land, the year opened badly with the disastrous defeat of an American column, under General Winchester, at Raisin River, Michigan; but on April 27 General Pike, at the head of fifteen hundred men, stormed and captured the British fort at York, now Toronto.
CAPTURE OF LITTLE YORK
[April 27, 1813]
When Britain, with envy and malice inflamed,
Dared dispute the dear rights of Columbia's bless'd union,
We thought of the time when our freedom we claim'd,
And fought 'gainst oppression with fullest communion.
Our foes on the ocean have been forced to yield,
And fresh laurels we now gather up in the field.
Freedom's flag on the wilds of the west is unfurl'd,
And our foes seem to find their resistance delusion;
For our eagle her arrows amongst them has hurl'd
And their ranks of bold veterans fill'd with confusion.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
On the lakes of the west, full of national pride,
See our brave little fleet most triumphantly riding!
And behold the brave tars on the fresh-water tide,
In a noble commander, [brave Chauncey], confiding.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
Their deeds of proud valor shall long stand enroll'd
On the bright shining page of our national glory:
And oft, in the deep winter's night, shall be told
The exploits of the tars of American story.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
Nor less shall the soldiers come in for their praise,
Who engaged to accomplish the great expedition;
And a monument Fame shall for them cheerily raise,
And their deeds shall in history find repetition.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
Let Britons still boast of their prowess and pluck;
We care not a straw for their muskets and cannon.
In the field we will beat them, unless they've the luck
To run from their foes like Tenedos and Shannon.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
Our sweet little bull-dogs, they thunder'd away,
And our sailors and soldiers the foe still kept mauling,
Till they grew very sick of such tight Yankee play,
And poor Sheaffe and his troops then ran away bawling.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
But the rascals on malice quite fully were bent:
And as from the fort they were cowardly going,
In pursuance to what was at first their intent,
The magazine they had resolved on up-blowing.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
Two hundred brave soldiers there met with their death;
And while for their country they nobly were dying,
Full fifty bold Britons at once lost their breath,
And with them in the air were their carcasses flying.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
The brave General Pike there met with his end;
But his virtues his country forever will cherish:
And while o'er his grave fair Freedom shall bend,
She will swear that his memory never shall perish.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
Let the minions of Britain swarm over our coast;
Columbians, all cowardly conduct disdaining,
We'll teach the invaders how vain is their boast,
And contend, whilst a drop of their blood is remaining.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
Then, freemen, arise, and gird on your swords,
And declare, while you still have the means of resistance,
That you ne'er will give up for the threatening of words,
Nor of arms, those dear rights which you prize as existence.
Our foes on the ocean, etc.
Forty of the enemy and more than two hundred Americans were killed or wounded by the explosion of a magazine, just as the place surrendered. General Pike was mortally wounded, and died with his head on the British flag which had been brought to him.
THE DEATH OF GENERAL PIKE
[April 27, 1813]
'Twas on the glorious day
When our valiant triple band
Drove the British troops away
From their strong and chosen stand;
When the city York was taken,
And the Bloody Cross hauled down
From the walls of the town
Its defenders had forsaken.
The gallant Pike had moved
A hurt foe to a spot
A little more removed
From the death-shower of the shot;
And he himself was seated
On 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 rain
He had been the first to face,
And now burned to brave again,
But had chosen that position
Till the officer's return
The truth who'd gone to learn
Of the garrison's condition.
When suddenly the ground
With a dread convulsion shook,
And arose a frightful sound,
And the sun was hid in smoke;
And huge stones and rafters, driven
Athwart the heavy rack,
Fell, fatal on their track
As 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 death
Of 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 him
Of the gallant Chauncey's fleet,
And, the conquest complete,
Spread the British flag before him.
O'er his eyes the long, last night
Was already falling fast;
But came back again the light
For a moment; 'twas the last.
With a victor's joy they fired,
'Neath his head by signs he bade
The 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.
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'd
That 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 faith
Pledged 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 life
As 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 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 sea
Was 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 down
And 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 sea
When 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 alike
Laid Lawrence low in glory, yet from his pallid lip
Rang 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 town
They hurried in swift silence, while toward the eastern night
The victor bore away from shore and vanished out of sight.
Hail to the great ship Chesapeake! Hail to the hero brave
Who 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.
CHESAPEAKE AND SHANNON
[June 1, 1813]
The Chesapeake so bold
Out of Boston, I've been told,
Came to take a British Frigate
Neat and handy O!
While the people of the port
Flocked out to see the sport,
With their music playing
Yankee Doodle Dandy O!
Now the British Frigate's name
Which for the purpose came
Of cooling Yankee courage
Neat and handy O!
Was the Shannon, Captain Broke,
Whose crew were heart of oak,
And for the fighting were confessed
To be the dandy O!
The engagement scarce begun
Ere they flinched from their guns,
Which at first they thought of working
Neat and handy O!
The bold Broke he waved his sword,
Crying, "Now, my lads, on board,
And we'll stop their playing
Yankee Doodle Dandy O!"
They no sooner heard the word
Than they quickly rushed aboard
And hauled down the Yankee ensign
Neat and handy O!
Notwithstanding all their brag,
Now the glorious British flag
At the Yankee's mizzen-peak
Was quite the dandy O!
Successful Broke to you,
And your officers and crew,
Who on board the Shannon frigate
Fought so handy O!
And may it ever prove
That in fighting as in love
The 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!"
DEFEAT AND VICTORY
[June 1, 1813]
Through the clangor of the cannon,
Through the combat's wreck and reek,
Answer to th' o'ermastering Shannon
Thunders from the Chesapeake:
Gallant Lawrence, wounded, dying,
Speaks with still unconquered lip
Ere 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—all
Heard the voice of duty crying;
Deathless word from dauntless lip
That 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.
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 again
His streamers cannot shade the main
While Yankees live to share 'em.
Huzza! once more for Yankee skill!
The brave are very generous still
But teach the foes submission:
Now twice three times his flag we've gain'd,
And more, much more can be obtain'd
Upon 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.
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.
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 inch
Of 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 fight
For their country's free trade and their own native right.
"Now give us a bumper to Elliott and those
Who 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.
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 behold
Their 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 lake
Shall be mantled in froth, and its Monarch shall quake
On 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 arrayed
In 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.
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 might
Were shown by the plume he was wearing.
The moment was fearful; a mightier foe
Had 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 cursed
With conflict so dark and appalling!—
Foe grappled with foe, till the life-blood burst
From their agonized bosoms in falling.
Gloom, silence, and solitude rest on the spot
Where 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 sing
The 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 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 than [Walbach], 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.
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 stars
To 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 made
For 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 blast
From 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 afar
To be led.
Long live the gallant crew
Who survived that day of blood:
And may fortune soon renew
Equal battle on the flood.
Long live the glorious names of the brave
O'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.
THE BATTLE OF BRIDGEWATER
[July 25, 1814]
O'er Huron's wave the sun was low,
The weary soldier watch'd the bow
Fast fading from the cloud below
The dashing of Niagara.
And while the phantom chain'd his sight,
Ah! little thought he of the fight—
The horrors of the dreamless night,
That posted on so rapidly.
Soon, soon is fled each softer charm;
The drum and trumpet sound alarm,
And bid each warrior nerve his arm
For boldest deeds of chivalry;
The burning red-cross, waving high,
Like meteor in the evening sky,
Proclaims the haughty foemen nigh
To try the strife of rivalry.
Columbia's banner floats as proud,
Her gallant band around it crowd,
And swear to guard or make their shroud
The starred flag of liberty.
"Haste, haste thee, Scott, to meet the foe,
And let the scornful Briton know,
Well strung the arm and firm the blow
Of him who strikes for liberty."
Loud, loud, the din of battle rings,
Shrill through the ranks the bullet sings,
And onward fierce each foeman springs
To meet his peer in gallantry.
Behind the hills descends the sun,
The work of death is but begun,
And red through twilight's shadows dun
Blazes the vollied musketry.
"Charge, Miller, charge the foe once more,"
And louder than Niagara's roar
Along the line is heard, encore,
"On, on to death or victory."
From line to line, with lurid glow,
High arching shoots the rocket's bow,
And lights the mingled scene below
Of carnage, death, and misery.
The middle watch has now begun,
The horrid battle-fray is done,
No longer beats the furious drum,
To death, to death or victory.
All, all is still—with silent tread
The watchman steals among the dead,
To guard his comrade's lowly bed,
Till morning give him sepulture.
Low in the west, of splendor shorn,
The midnight moon with bloody horn
Sheds her last beam on him, forlorn,
Who fell in fight so gloriously;
Oh! long her crescent wax and wane
Ere she behold such fray again,
Such dismal night, such heaps of slain,
Foe mix'd with foe promiscuously.
Colonel Winfield Scott commanded a battalion at this battle, and by a series of desperate charges drove the British from the field. But so shaken was the American army that it was compelled to retreat to camp, after spending the night upon the conquered ground.
THE HERO OF BRIDGEWATER
[July 25, 1814]
Seize, O seize the sounding lyre,
With its quivering string!
Strike the chords, in ecstasy,
Whilst loud the valleys ring!
Sing the chief, who, gloriously,
From England's veteran band,
Pluck'd the wreaths of victory,
To grace his native land!
Where Bridgewater's war-famed stream
Saw the foemen reel,
Thrice repulsed, with burnish'd gleam
Of bayonet, knife, and steel;
And its crimson'd waters run
Red with gurgling flow,
As Albion's gathering hosts his arm,
His mighty arm, laid low.
Strike the sounding string of fame,
O lyre! Beat loud, ye drums!
Ye clarion blasts, exalt his name!
Behold the hero comes!
I see Columbia, joyously,
Her palmy circlet throw
Around his high victorious brow
Who laid her foemen low!
Take him, Fame! for thine he is!
On silvery columns, rear
The name of Scott, whence envious Time
Shall ne'er its honors tear!
And thou, O Albion, quake with dread!
Ye veterans shrink, the while,
Whene'er his glorious name shall sound
To shake your sea-girt isle!
Charles L. S. Jones.
The British, meanwhile, had extended their blockade to the whole coast of the United States, and were ordered to "destroy and lay waste all towns and districts of the United States found accessive to the attack of the British armaments." In pursuance of these orders, town after town along the coast was bombarded and burned. On August 9, 1814, a squadron descended on the little village of Stonington, but met a warm reception.
THE BATTLE OF STONINGTON ON THE SEABOARD OF CONNECTICUT
[August 9-12, 1814]
[Four gallant ships] from England came
Freighted deep with fire and flame,
And other things we need not name,
To have a dash at Stonington.
Now safely moor'd, their work begun;
They thought to make the Yankees run,
And have a mighty deal of fun
In stealing sheep at Stonington.
A deacon then popp'd up his head,
And parson Jones's sermon read,
In which the reverend doctor said
That they must fight for Stonington.
A townsman bade them, next, attend
To sundry resolutions penn'd,
By which they promised to defend
With sword and gun old Stonington.
The ships advancing different ways,
The Britons soon began to blaze,
And put th' old women in amaze,
Who fear'd the loss of Stonington.
The Yankees to their fort repair'd,
And made as though they little cared
For all that came—though very hard
The cannon play'd on Stonington.
The Ramillies began the attack,
Despatch came forward—bold and black—
And none can tell what kept them back
From setting fire to Stonington.
The bombardiers with bomb and ball,
Soon made a farmer's barrack fall,
And did a cow-house sadly maul
That stood a mile from Stonington.
They kill'd a goose, they kill'd a hen,
Three hogs they wounded in a pen—
They dash'd away, and pray what then?
This was not taking Stonington.
The shells were thrown, the rockets flew,
But not a shell, of all they threw,
Though every house was full in view,
Could burn a house at Stonington.
To have their turn they thought but fair;—
The Yankees brought two guns to bear,
And, sir, it would have made you stare,
This smoke of smokes at Stonington.
They bored Pactolus through and through,
And kill'd and wounded of her crew
So many, that she bade adieu
T' the gallant boys of Stonington.
The brig Despatch was hull'd and torn—
So crippled, riddled, so forlorn,
No more she cast an eye of scorn
On the little fort at Stonington.
The Ramillies gave up th' affray,
And, with her comrades, sneak'd away,
Such was the valor, on that day,
Of British tars near Stonington.
But some assert, on certain grounds
(Besides the damage and the wounds),
It cost the king ten thousand pounds
To have a dash at Stonington.
Philip Freneau.
Occasionally, an American ship would manage to deal a telling blow. The Wasp, cruising in the English Channel, did especially effective work, among her most famous actions being that with the Avon on the night of September 1, 1814, in which, after a spirited fight, the Avon was sunk.
THE OCEAN-FIGHT
[September 1, 1814]
The sun had sunk beneath the west,
When two proud barks to battle press'd,
With swelling sail and streamers dress'd,
So gallantly.
Proud Britain's pennon flouts the skies:
Columbia's flag more proudly flies,
Her emblem stars of victories
Beam gloriously.
Sol's lingering rays, through vapors shed,
Have streak'd the sky of bloody red,
And now the ensanguined lustre spread
Heaven's canopy.
Dread prelude to that awful night
When Britain's and Columbia's might
Join'd in the fierce and bloody fight,
Hard rivalry.
Now, lowering o'er the stormy deep,
Dank, sable clouds more threatening sweep:
Yet still the barks their courses keep
Unerringly.
The northern gales more fiercely blow,
The white foam dashing o'er the prow;
The starry crescent round each bow
Beams vividly.
Near and more near the war-ships ride,
Till, ranged for battle, side by side,
Each warrior's heart beats high with pride
Of chivalry.
'Twas awful, ere the fight begun,
To see brave warriors round each gun,
While thoughts on home and carnage run,
Stand silently.
As death-like stillness reigns around,
Nature seems wrapp'd in peace profound,
Ere fires, volcanic, mountain bound,
Burst furiously.
So, bursting from Columbia's prow,
Her thunder on the red-cross foe,
The lurid cloud's sulphuric glow
Glares awfully.
Reëchoing peals more fiercely roar,
Britannia's shatter'd sides run gore,
The foaming waves that raged before,
Sink, tremulous.
Columbia's last sulphuric blaze,
That lights her stripes and starry rays,
The vanquish'd red-cross flag betrays,
Struck fearfully.
And, hark! their piercing shrieks of wo!
Haste, haste and save the sinking foe:
Haste, e'er their wreck to bottom go,
Brave conquerors.
Now, honor to the warriors brave,
Whose field of fame, the mountain wave,
Their corses bear to ocean's cave,
Their sepulchre.
Their country's pæans swell their praise;
And whilst the warm tear, gushing, strays,
Full many a bard shall chant his lays,
Their requiem.
The Wasp herself never returned to port. On September 21 she captured the Atalanta and put a crew on board to take the prize to America. They parted company, and the Wasp was never seen again.
THE LOST WAR-SLOOP
(THE WASP, 1814)
O the pride of Portsmouth water,
Toast of every brimming beaker,—
Eighteen hundred and fourteen on land and sea,—
Was the Wasp, the gallant war-sloop,
Built of oaks Kearsarge had guarded,
Pines of Maine to lift her colors high and free!
Every timber scorning cowards;
Every port alert for foemen
From the masthead seen on weather-side or lee;—
With eleven guns to starboard,
And eleven guns to larboard,
All for glory on a morn of May sailed she.
British ships were in the offing;
Swift and light she sped between them,—
Well her daring crew knew shoal and wind and tide;
They had come from Portsmouth river,
Sea-girt Marblehead and Salem,
Bays and islands where the fisher-folk abide;
Come for love of home and country,
Come with wrongs that cried for vengeance,—
Every man among them brave and true and tried.
"Hearts of oak" are British seamen?
Hearts of fire were these, their kindred,
Flaming till the haughty foe should be descried!
From the mountains, from the prairies,
Blew the west winds glad to waft her;—
Ah, what goodly ships before her guns went down!
Ships with wealth of London laden,
Ships with treasures of the Indies,
Till her name brought fear to British wharf and town;
Till the war-sloops Reindeer, Avon,
To her valor struck their colors,
Making coast and ocean ring with her renown;
While her captain cried, exultant,
"Britain, to the bold Republic,
Of the empire of the seas shall yield the crown!"
Oh, the woful, woful ending
Of the pride of Portsmouth water!
Never more to harbor nor to shore came she!
Springs returned but brought no tidings;
Mothers, maidens, broken-hearted,
Wept the gallant lads that sailed away in glee.
Did the bolts of heaven blast her?
Did the hurricanes o'erwhelm her
With her starry banner and her tall masts three?
Was a pirate-fleet her captor?
Did she drift to polar oceans?
Who shall tell the awful secret of the sea!
Who shall tell? yet many a sailor
In his watch at dawn or midnight,
When the wind is wildest and the black waves moan,
Sees a stanch three-master looming;
Hears the hurried call to quarters,
The drum's quick beat and the bugle fiercely blown;—
Then the cannon's direful thunder
Echoes far along the billows;
Then the victor's shout for the foe overthrown;—
And the watcher knows the phantom
Is the Wasp, the gallant war-sloop,
Still a rover of the seas and glory's own!
Edna Dean Proctor.
The abdication of Napoleon enabled England to turn her undivided attention to the war with America, and a large body of troops was detailed for service here. Having lost control of Lake Erie and Lake Ontario, England determined to secure Lake Champlain and to invade New York by this route. A force of twelve thousand regulars, under General George Prevost, started from Montreal early in August, while the British naval force on the lake was augmented to nineteen vessels.
ON THE BRITISH INVASION
[1814]
From France, desponding and betray'd,
From liberty in ruins laid,
Exulting Britain has display'd
Her flag, again to invade us.
Her myrmidons, with murdering eye,
Across the broad Atlantic fly,
Prepared again their strength to try,
And strike our country's standard.
Lord Wellington's ten thousand slaves,
And thrice ten thousand, on the waves,
And thousands more of brags and braves
Are under sail, and coming,
To burn our towns, to seize our soil,
To change our laws, our country spoil,
And Madison to Elba's isle
To send without redemption.
In Boston state they hope to find
A Yankee host of kindred mind,
To aid their arms, to rise and bind
Their countrymen in shackles.
But no such thing—it will not do—
At least, not while a Jersey Blue
Is to the cause of freedom true,
Or the bold Pennsylvanian.
A curse on England's frantic schemes!
Both mad and blind, her monarch dreams
Of crowns and kingdoms in these climes,
Where kings have had their sentence.
Though Washington has left our coast,
Yet other Washingtons we boast,
Who rise, instructed by his ghost,
To punish all invaders.
Go where they will, where'er they land,
This pilfering, plundering, pirate band,
They liberty will find at hand
To hurl them to perdition!
If in Virginia they appear,
Their fate is fix'd, their doom is near,
Death in their front, and hell their rear;
So says the gallant buckskin.
All Carolina is prepared,
And Charleston doubly on her guard;
Where, once, Sir Peter badly fared,
So blasted by Fort Moultrie.
If farther south they turn their views,
With veteran troops, or veteran crews,
The curse of Heaven their march pursues,
To send them all a-packing.
The tallest mast that sails the wave,
The longest keel its waters lave,
Will bring them to an early grave
On the shores of Pensacola.
Philip Freneau.
The American commander on the lake was Thomas Macdonough, and by almost herculean efforts he managed to build and launch a ship, a schooner, and a number of gunboats, so that his total force was raised to fourteen sail. With this fleet, he proceeded to Plattsburg and anchored in Plattsburg Bay. On September 11 the British fleet, certain of victory, sailed in and attacked him, but was ignominiously defeated.
THE BATTLE OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN
[September 11, 1814]
Parading near Saint Peter's flood
Full fourteen thousand soldiers stood;
Allied with natives of the wood,
With frigates, sloops, and galleys near;
Which southward, now, began to steer;
Their object was, Ticonderogue.
Assembled at Missisqui bay
A feast they held, to hail the day,
When all should bend to British sway
From Plattsburgh to Ticonderogue.
And who could tell, if reaching there
They might not other laurels share
And England's flag in triumph bear
To the capitol, at Albany!
Sir George advanced, with fire and sword,
The frigates were with vengeance stored,
The strength of Mars was felt on board,—
When [Downie] gave the dreadful word,
Huzza! for death or victory!
Sir George beheld the prize at stake,
And, with his veterans, made the attack,
[Macomb's] brave legions drove him back;
And England's fleet approached, to meet
A desperate combat, on the lake.
From Isle La Motte to Saranac
With sulphurous clouds the heavens were black;
We saw advance the Confiance,
Shall blood and carnage mark her track,
To gain dominion on the lake.
Then on our ships she poured her flame,
And many a tar did kill or maim,
Who suffered for their country's fame,
Her soil to save, her rights to guard.
Macdonough, now, began his play,
And soon his seamen heard him say,
"No Saratoga yields, this day,
To all the force that Britain sends.
"Disperse, my lads, and man the waist,
Be firm, and to your stations haste,
And England from Champlain is chased,
If you behave as you see me."
The fire began with awful roar;
At our first flash the artillery tore,
From his proud stand, their commodore,
A presage of the victory.
The skies were hid in flame and smoke,
Such thunders from the cannon spoke,
The contest such an aspect took
As if all nature went to wreck!
Amidst his decks, with slaughter strewed,
Unmoved, the brave Macdonough stood,
Or waded through a scene of blood,
At every step that round him streamed:
He stood amidst Columbia's sons,
He stood amidst dismounted guns,
He fought amidst heart-rending groans,
The tattered sail, the tottering mast.
Then, round about, his ship he wore,
And charged his guns with vengeance sore,
And more than Etna shook the shore—
The foe confessed the contest vain.
In vain they fought, in vain they sailed,
That day; for Britain's fortune failed,
And their best efforts naught availed
To hold dominion on Champlain.
So, down their colors to the deck
The vanquished struck—their ships a wreck—
What dismal tidings for Quebec,
What news for England and her prince!
For, in this fleet, from England won,
A favorite project is undone;
Her sorrows only are begun—
And she may want, and very soon,
Her armies for her own defence.
Philip Freneau.
THE BATTLE OF PLATTSBURG BAY
[September 11, 1814]
Plattsburg Bay! Plattsburg Bay!
Blue and gold in the dawning ray,
Crimson under the high noonday
With the reek of the fray!
It was Thomas Macdonough, as gallant a sailor
As ever went scurrying over the main;
And he cried from his deck, If they think I'm a quailer,
And deem they can capture this Lake of Champlain,
We'll show them they're not fighting France, sir, nor Spain!
So from Cumberland Head to the little Crab Island
He scattered his squadron in trim battle-line;
And when he saw Downie come rounding the highland,
He knelt him, beseeching for guidance divine,
Imploring that Heaven would crown his design.
Then thundered the Eagle her lusty defiance;
The stout Saratoga aroused with a roar;
Soon gunboat and galley in hearty alliance
Their resonant volley of compliments pour;
And ever Macdonough's the man to the fore!
And lo, when the fight toward its fiercest was swirling,
A game-cock, released by a splintering ball,
Flew high in the ratlines, the smoke round him curling,
And over the din gave his trumpeting call,
An omen of ultimate triumph to all!
Then a valianter light touched the powder-grimed faces;
Then faster the shot seemed to plunge from the gun;
And we shattered their yards and we sundered their braces,
And the fume of our cannon—it shrouded the sun;
Cried Macdonough—Once more, and the battle is won!
Now, the flag of the haughty Confiance is trailing;
The Linnet in woe staggers in toward the shore;
The Finch is a wreck from her keel to her railing;
The galleys flee fast to the strain of the oar;
Macdonough! 'tis he is the man to the fore!
Oh, our main decks were grim and our gun decks were gory,
And many a brave brow was pallid with pain;
And while some won to death, yet we all won to glory
Who fought with Macdonough that day on Champlain,
And humbled her pride who is queen of the main!
Clinton Scollard.
While the naval battle was in progress, Prevost made an assault on the American lines, but was repulsed with loss, and learning of the fleet's defeat, ordered a retreat. This was so precipitate that it was almost a flight, and great quantities of artillery, stores, and provisions fell into the hands of the Americans.
THE BATTLE OF PLATTSBURG
[September 11, 1814]
Sir George Prevost, with all his host,
March'd forth from Montreal, sir,
Both he and they as blithe and gay
As going to a ball, sir.
The troops he chose were all of those
That conquer'd Marshall Soult, sir;
Who at Garonne (the fact is known)
Scarce brought they to a halt, sir.
With troops like these, he thought with ease
To crush the Yankee faction:
His only thought was how he ought
To bring them into action.
"Your very names," Sir George exclaims,
"Without a gun or bayonet,
Will pierce like darts through Yankee hearts,
And all their spirits stagnate.
"Oh! how I dread lest they have fled
And left their puny fort, sir,
For sure Macomb won't stay at home,
T' afford us any sport, sir.
Good-by!" he said to those that stay'd:
"Keep close as mice or rats snug:
We'll just run out upon a scout,
To burn the town of Plattsburg."
Then up Champlain with might and main
He marched in dress array, sir;
With fife and drum to scare Macomb,
And drive him quite away, sir.
And, side by side, their nation's pride
Along the current beat, sir:
Sworn not to sup till they ate up
McDonough and his fleet, sir.
Still onward came these men of fame,
Resolved to give "no quarter:"
But to their cost they found at last
That they had caught a Tartar.
At distant shot awhile they fought,
By water and by land, sir:
His knightship ran from man to man,
And gave his dread command, sir.
"Britons, strike home! this dog Macomb—
So well the fellow knows us—
Will just as soon jump o'er the moon
As venture to oppose us.
With quick despatch light every match,
Man every gun and swivel,
Cross in a crack the Saranac,
And drive 'em to the devil!"
The Vermont ranks that lined the banks,
Then poised the unerring rifle,
And to oppose their haughty foes
They found a perfect trifle.
Meanwhile the fort kept up such sport,
They thought the devil was in it;
Their mighty train play'd off in vain—
'Twas silenced in a minute.
Sir George, amazed, so wildly gazed,
Such frantic gambols acted,
Of all his men, not one in ten
But thought him quite distracted.
He cursed and swore, his hair he tore,
Then jump'd upon his pony,
And gallop'd off towards the bluff,
To look for Captain Downie.
But when he spied McDonough ride,
In all the pomp of glory,
He hasten'd back to Saranac,
To tell the dismal story:
"My gallant crews—Oh! shocking news—
Are all or killed or taken!
Except a few that just withdrew
In time to save their bacon.
"Old England's pride must now subside.
Oh! how the news will shock her,
To have her fleet not only beat,
But sent to Davy's locker.
From this sad day, let no one say
Britannia rules the ocean:
We've dearly bought the humbling thought,
That this is all a notion.
"With one to ten I'd fight 'gainst men,
But these are Satan's legions,
With malice fraught, some piping hot
From Pluto's darkest regions!
Hélas! mon Dieu! what shall I do?
I smell the burning sulphur—
Set Britain's isle all rank and file,
Such men would soon engulf her.
"That's full as bad—Oh! I'll run mad!
Those western hounds are summon'd;
Gaines, Scott, and Brown are coming down,
[To serve me just like Drummond].
Thick, too, as bees, the Vermontese
Are swarming to the lake, sir;
And Izard's men, come back again,
Lie hid in every brake, sir.
"Good Brisbane, beat a quick retreat,
Before their forces join, sir:
For, sure as fate, they've laid a bait
To catch us like Burgoyne, sir.
All round about, keep good look out:
We'll surely be surrounded;
Since I could crawl, my gallant soul
Was never so astounded."
The rout begun, Sir George led on,
His men ran helter skelter,
Each tried his best t' outrun the rest
To gain a place of shelter;
To hide their fear, they gave a cheer,
And thought it mighty cunning—
He'll fight, they say, another day,
Who saves himself by running!
Although the blow at New York had been turned aside, another, aimed at the Nation's Capital, fell with deadly effect. On August 24, 1814, a strong force landed in Chesapeake Bay, routed a force of militia at Bladensburg, entered Washington, and burned the Capitol, White House, and many other public buildings. A few days later, Baltimore was attacked.
THE BATTLE OF BALTIMORE
[September 12, 1814]
[Old Ross, Cockburn, and Cochrane too],
And many a bloody villain more,
Swore with their bloody savage crew,
That they would plunder Baltimore.
But [General Winder] being afraid
That his militia would not stand,
He sent away to crave the aid
Of a few true Virginians.
Then up we rose with hearts elate,
To help our suffering sister state.
When first our orders we received,
For to prepare without delay,
Our wives and sweethearts for to leave,
And to the army march away,
Although it grieved our hearts full sore,
To leave our sweet Virginia shore,
We kiss'd our sweethearts o'er and o'er,
And march'd like true Virginians.
Adieu awhile, sweet girls, adieu,
With honor we'll return to you.
With rapid marches on we went,
To leave our sweet Virginia shore,
No halt was made, no time was spent,
Till we arrived at Baltimore.
The Baltimoreans did us greet,
The ladies clapt their lily-white hands,
Exclaiming as we passed the street,
"Welcome, ye brave Virginians.
May Heaven all your foes confound,
And send you home with laurels crown'd."
We had not been in quarters long,
Before we heard the dread alarms,
The cannon roar'd, the bells did ring,
The drum did beat to arms, to arms.
Then up we rose to face our foes,
Determined to meet them on the strand,
And drive them back from fair Freedom's shore,
Or die like brave Virginians.
In Heaven above we placed our trust,
Well knowing that our cause is just.
Then Ross he landed at North Point,
With seven thousand men or more,
And swore by that time next night,
That he would be in Baltimore.
But Striker met him on the strand,
Attended by a chosen band,
Where he received a fatal shot
From a brave Pennsylvanian—
Whom Heaven directed to the field,
To make this haughty Briton yield.
Then Cockburn he drew up his fleet,
To bombard Fort McHenry,
A thinking that our men, of course,
Would take affright and run away.
The fort was commanded by a patriotic band,
As ever graced fair Freedom's land,
And he who did the fort command
Was a true blue Virginian.
Long may we have brave Armstead's name
Recorded on the book of fame.
A day and a night they tried their might,
But found their bombs did not prevail,
And seeing their army put to flight,
They weigh'd their anchor and made sail,
Resolving to return again,
To execute their former plan;
But if they do, they'll find us still
That we are brave Virginians.
And they shall know before they've done,
That they are not in Washington.
But now their shipping's out of sight,
And each man takes a parting glass,
Drinks to his true love and heart's delight,
His only joy and bosom friend,
For I might as well drink a health,
For I hate to see good liquor stand,
That America may always boast
That we are brave Virginians.
The next day, Admiral Cochrane moved his fleet into position to attack Fort McHenry, two miles above the city, and began a terrific bombardment, which lasted all the night. The fort answered with such guns as would reach the ships, and when morning dawned, the Stars and Stripes were still floating over it. The British feared to attack an intrenchment so gallantly defended, and the next day retreated to their shipping.
FORT McHENRY
[September 13, 1814]
Thy blue waves, Patapsco, flow'd soft and serene,
Thy hills and thy valleys were cheerful and gay,
While the day-star of Peace shed its beams on the scene,
And youth, love, and beauty reflected its ray.
Where white-bosom'd commerce late reign'd o'er thy tide,
And zephyrs of gladness expanded each sail,
I saw hostile squadrons in dread array ride,
While their thunders reëchoed o'er hill and o'er vale.
But our heroes, thy sons, proud in panoply rose,
For their homes,—for their altars,—to conquer or die;
With the lightning of freedom encounter'd their foes;
Taught the veteran to tremble,—the valiant to fly.
Now, how tranquil thy scenes when the clangors of war
Late broke the soft dreams of the fair and the young!
To the tombs of thy heroes shall beauty repair,
And their deeds by our bards shall forever be sung.
On the iron-crown'd fortress "that frowns o'er thy flood,"
And tells the sad fate of the gay and the brave,
In mournful reflection Eliza late stood,
And paid a soft tribute—a tear on their grave.
To the manes of the fallen, oh! how grateful that tear!
Far sweeter to me than the Spring's richest bloom:
Such rewards light the fire of Chivalry here,
And when the brave fall—ever hallow their tomb.
Just before the bombardment began, Francis Scott Key had put out to the admiral's frigate to arrange for an exchange of prisoners, and was directed to remain till the action was over. All that night he watched the flaming shells, and when, by the first rays of the morning, he saw his country's flag still waving above the fort, he hastily wrote the stirring verses which have since become America's national song.
[September 13, 1814]
O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming!
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there:
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Francis Scott Key.
The destruction of Washington, besides being perhaps the most outrageous act of vandalism ever committed by a Christian army, was a grave tactical error. One feeling of wrath and cry for vengeance swept the land; party differences were forgotten, and the whole country pressed forward to prosecute the war with an enthusiasm and vigor which had before been sadly wanting.
YE PARLIAMENT OF ENGLAND
Ye parliament of England,
You lords and commons, too,
Consider well what you're about,
And what you're going to do;
You're now to fight with Yankees,
I'm sure you'll rue the day
You roused the sons of liberty,
In North America.
You first confined our commerce,
And said our ships shan't trade,
You next impressed our seamen,
And used them as your slaves;
You then insulted Rogers,
While ploughing o'er the main,
And had not we declarèd war,
You'd have done it o'er again.
You thought our frigates were but few
And Yankees could not fight,
Until brave Hull your Guerrière took
And banished her from your sight.
The Wasp then took your Frolic,
We'll nothing say to that,
The Poictiers being of the line,
Of course she took her back.
The next, your Macedonian,
No finer ship could swim,
Decatur took her gilt-work off,
And then he sent her in.
The Java, by a Yankee ship
Was sunk, you all must know;
The Peacock fine, in all her plume,
By Lawrence down did go.
Then next you sent your Boxer,
To box us all about,
But we had an Enterprising brig
That beat your Boxer out;
We boxed her up to Portland,
And moored her off the town,
To show the sons of liberty
The Boxer of renown.
The next upon Lake Erie,
Where Perry had some fun,
You own he beat your naval force,
And caused them for to run;
This was to you a sore defeat,
The like ne'er known before—
Your British squadron beat complete—
Some took, some run ashore.
There's Rogers in the President,
Will burn, sink, and destroy;
The Congress, on the Brazil coast,
Your commerce will annoy;
The Essex, in the South Seas,
Will put out all your lights,
The flag she waves at her mast-head—
"Free Trade and Sailor's Rights."
Lament, ye sons of Britain,
Far distant is the day,
When you'll regain by British force
What you've lost in America;
Go tell your king and parliament,
By all the world 'tis known,
That British force, by sea and land,
By Yankees is o'erthrown.
Use every endeavor,
And strive to make a peace,
For Yankee ships are building fast,
Their navy to increase;
They will enforce their commerce,
The laws by heaven are made,
That Yankee ships in time of peace
To any port may trade.
Nor was the outrage universally applauded, even in England. An anti-war party had arisen there, and was constantly growing in strength.
THE BOWER OF PEACE
From "Ode Written during the War with America, 1814"
When shall the Island Queen of Ocean lay
The thunderbolt aside,
And, twining olives with her laurel crown,
Rest in the Bower of Peace?
Not long may this unnatural strife endure
Beyond the Atlantic deep;
Not long may men, with vain ambition drunk,
And insolent in wrong,
Afflict with their misrule the indignant land
Where Washington hath left
His awful memory
A light for after-times!
Vile instruments of fallen Tyranny
In their own annals, by their countrymen.
For lasting shame shall they be written down.
Soon may the better Genius there prevail!
Then will the Island Queen of Ocean lay
The thunderbolt aside,
And, twining olives with her laurel crown,
Rest in the Bower of Peace.
Robert Southey.
One of the most remarkable naval battles of the war occurred on September 26, 1814, in Fayal Roads. The General Armstrong, the famous privateer schooner, Captain Samuel Chester Reid, had anchored there, trusting to the neutrality of the harbor, and was attacked after nightfall by the boats of a strong British squadron. A fearful struggle followed, the British being finally beaten off.
REID AT FAYAL
[September 26, 1814]
A cliff-locked port and a bluff sea wall,
And a craggy rampart, brown and bold;
Proud Pico's bastions towering tall,
And a castle dumb and cold.
The scream of a gull where a porpoise rolls;
And the flash of a home-bound fisher's blade,
Where the ghostly boom of the drum fish tolls
For wrecks that the surf has made.
A grim dun ridge, and a thin gray beach,
And the swish and the swash of the sleepless tide;
And the moonlight masking the reef's long reach,
Where the lurking breakers bide.
And under the castle's senseless walls
(Santa Cruz, old and cold and dumb),
Where only the prying sea-mew calls,
And the harbor beetles hum,
A Yankee craft at her cable swings:
"All's well!" the cheery lookout sings.
But the skipper counts his sleeping crew,
His guns, and his drowsy ensign, too.
—Says he, "They'll do!"
For the skipper marks, tho' he makes no sign,
Frigate and corvette and ship of the line,
Rounding the headland into the light:
"Three Union Jacks and a moonlight night!"
—Says he, "We'll fight!"
Twelve launches cutting the silver bay;
Twenty score boarders called away.
And it's "Lively, hearties, and let her go!"
With a rouse and a cheer and a "Yeo, ho, ho!"
—Says Reid, "Lie low!"
'Tis a song of havoc the rowlocks sing,
And Death marks time in the rower's swing;
'Tis a baleful glow on the spouting spray,
As the keels in their cruel lust make way.
"Now, up and slay!"
Now up and play in the mad old game—
Axe and cutlass, fury and flame!
White breasts red-wat in the viler muck,
Proud hearts hurled back in the sprawling ruck.
—Says Reid, "Well struck!"
Pike and pistol and dripping blade
(So are the ghosts and the glory made);
A curse for a groan, and a cheer for a yell;
Pale glut of Hate and red rapture of Hell!
—Says Reid, "All's well!"
All's well for the banner that dances free,
Where the mountains are shouting the news to the sea.
All's well for the bold, and all's ill for the strong,
In the fight and the flight that shall hold us long,
In tale and song.
John Williamson Palmer.
THE FIGHT OF THE ARMSTRONG PRIVATEER
Tell the story to your sons
Of the gallant days of yore,
When the brig of seven guns
Fought the fleet of seven score,
From the set of sun till morn, through the long September night—
Ninety men against two thousand, and the ninety won the fight
In the harbor of Fayal the Azore.
Three lofty British ships came a-sailing to Fayal:
One was a line-of-battle ship, and two were frigates tall;
Nelson's valiant men of war, brave as Britons ever are,
Manned the guns they served so well at Aboukir and Trafalgar.
Lord Dundonald and his fleet at Jamaica far away
Waited eager for their coming, fretted sore at their delay.
There was loot for British valor on the Mississippi coast
In the beauty and the booty that the Creole cities boast;
There were rebel knaves to swing, there were prisoners to bring
Home in fetters to old England for the glory of the King!
At the setting of the sun and the ebbing of the tide
Came the great ships one by one, with their portals opened wide,
And their cannon frowning down on the castle and the town
And the privateer that lay close inside;
Came the eighteen-gun Carnation, and the Rota, forty-four,
And the triple-decked Plantagenet an Admiral's pennon bore:
And the privateer grew smaller as their topmasts towered taller,
And she bent her springs and anchored by the castle on the shore.
Spoke the noble Portuguese to the stranger: "Have no fear;
They are neutral waters these, and your ship is sacred here
As if fifty stout armadas to shelter you from harm,
For the honor of the Briton will defend you from his arm."
But the privateersman said, "Well we know the Englishmen,
And their faith is written red in the Dartmoor slaughter-pen.
Come what fortune God may send, we will fight them to the end,
And the mercy of the sharks may spare us then."
"Seize the pirate where she lies!" cried the English Admiral:
"If the Portuguese protect her, all the wors for Portugal!"
And four launches at his bidding leaped impatient for the fray,
Speeding shoreward where the Armstrong, grim and dark and ready, lay.
Twice she hailed and gave them warning; but the feeble menace scorning,
On they came in splendid silence, till a cable's length away.
Then the Yankee pivot spoke; Pico's thousand echoes woke;
And four baffled, beaten launches drifted helpless on the bay.
Then the wrath of Lloyd arose till the lion roared again,
And he called out all his launches and he called five hundred men;
And he gave the word "No quarter!" and he sent them forth to smite.
Heaven help the foe before him when the Briton comes in might!
Heaven helped the little Armstrong in her hour of bitter need;
God Almighty nerved the heart and guided well the arm of Reid.
Launches to port and starboard, launches forward and aft,
Fourteen launches together striking the little craft.
They hacked at the boarding-nettings, they swarmed above the rail;
But the Long Tom roared from his pivot and the grape-shot fell like hail;
Pike and pistol and cutlass, and hearts that knew not fear,
Bulwarks of brawn and mettle, guarded the privateer.
And ever where fight was fiercest the form of Reid was seen:
Ever where foes drew nearest, his quick sword fell between.
Once in the deadly strife
The boarder's leader pressed
Forward of all the rest
Challenging life for life;
But ere their blades had crossed
A dying sailor tossed
His pistol to Reid, and cried,
"Now riddle the lubber's hide!"
But the privateersman laughed, and flung the weapon aside,
And he drove his blade to the hilt, and the foeman gasped and died.
Then the boarders took to their launches, laden with hurt and dead,
But little with glory burdened, and out of the battle fled.
Now the tide was at flood again, and the night was almost done,
When the sloop-of-war came up with her odds of two to one,
And she opened fire; but the Armstrong answered her, gun for gun,
And the gay Carnation wilted in half an hour of sun.
Then the Armstrong, looking seaward, saw the mighty seventy-four,
With her triple tier of cannon, drawing slowly to the shore.
And the dauntless captain said: "[Take our wounded and our dead],
Bear them tenderly to land, for the Armstrong's days are o'er;
But no foe shall tread her deck, and no flag above it wave—
To the ship that saved our honor we will give a shipman's grave."
So they did as he commanded, and they bore their mates to land
With the figurehead of Armstrong and the good sword in his hand.
Then they turned the Long Tom downward, and they pierced her oaken side,
And they cheered her, and they blessed her, and they sunk her in the tide.
Tell the story to your sons,
When the haughty stranger boasts
Of his mighty ships and guns
And the muster of his hosts,
How the word of God was witnessed in the gallant days of yore
When the twenty fled from one ere the rising of the sun,
In the harbor of Fayal the Azore!
James Jeffrey Roche.
Three boats, loaded with dead and dying, were captured by the Americans, the survivors having escaped by jumping overboard and swimming ashore. At daybreak the whole British fleet moved in to attack, and Captain Reid was forced to scuttle his ship and abandon her.
THE ARMSTRONG AT FAYAL
[September 26, 1814]
Oh, the sun sets red, the moon shines white,
And blue is Fayal's clear sky;
The sun and moon and sky are bright,
And the sea, and stars on high;
But the name of Reid and the fame of Reid
And the flag of his ship and crew
Are brighter far than sea or star
Or the heavens' red, white, and blue:
So lift your voices once again
For the land we love so dear,
For the fighting Captain and the men
Of the Yankee Privateer!
The moonbeams, like fine silver, shine
Upon the blue Azores,
As twilight pours her purple wine
Upon those storied shores;
The General Armstrong's flag of stars
In the harbor of Fayal
Flies forth, remote from thought of wars,
Until the sunset call.
No glistening guns in serried line
The slender schooner boasts,
A pivot and eight hearty nines
Shall meet her foeman's hosts;
Her sides are oak, her masts are tall,
Her captain's one to trust,
Her ninety men are free men all,
Her quarrel wholly just.
On far Fayal the moon is fair
To-night as it was when,
Glad in the gay September air,
Reid laughed beside his men;
On far Fayal the sun to-day
Was lord of all the sky
As when the General Armstrong lay,
Our banner flung on high;
But now there rests a holier light
Than theirs on land or sea:
The splendor of our sailors' might,
And glorious bravery.
A moment, and the flag will sink
As sinks the sun to rest
Beyond the billows' western brink
Where towers the Eagle's nest,
When round the azure harbor-head
Where sparkling ocean brims,
Her British ensign streaming red,
The brig Carnation swims.
Ere with the sun her sails are set
The Rota frigate glides
And the great ship Plantagenet
To stations at her sides:
They carry six score guns and ten,
They serve the British crown,
They muster o'er a thousand men—
To win were small renown.
'Twas by Fayal, where Portugal
Still flaunts her Blue-and-White;
What cares their Floyd for Portugal
Or what cares he for right?
He starts his signals down the line—
Our flag is flying free—
His weapons in the moonbeams shine,
His boats drop on the sea.
Straight to the Armstrong swift they come.
Speak, or I fire! shouts Reid—
Their rattling rowlocks louder hum
To mark their heightened speed.
Fierce o'er their moonlit path there stream
Bright glares of crimson flame;
Our muskets but an instant gleam,
Yet leave them wounded, lame.
They try a feeble, brief reply
Ere back their course is sped.
Before our marksmanship they fly,
Their living with their dead.
Floyd swears upon his faith and all
The Armstrong shall be his;
He scorns rebuke from Portugal,
But not such enemies;
So guns are charged with canister
And picked men go to fight:
Brave hearts and doomed full many were
In the Azores that night.
From nine until the nick of twelve
Their boats are seen to throng
Where rocky islets slant and shelve
Safe from our bullets' song;
Then out they dash, their small arms flash,
While blare their carronades,
Their boarding-pikes and axes clash,
Their guns and cutlass blades.
Our Long Tom speaks, our shrapnel shrieks;
But ere we load again,
On every side the battle reeks
Of thrice a hundred men.
Our rail is low, and there the foe
Cling as they shoot and hack.
We stab them as they climb a-row,
Slaying, nor turning back.
They dash up now upon our bow,
And there our hearties haste;
Now at our stern their muskets burn,
And now along our waist.
Our fo'c'sle weeps when Williams dies,
When Worth falls in his blood,
But bleeding through the battle-cries
Our gallant Johnson stood;
The British muskets snapt and spat
Till Reid came in his wrath,
His brow so pale with purpose that
It glistened down his path.
Forth from the quarter-deck he springs,
He and his men with cheers;
On British skulls his cutlass rings,
His pistols in their ears;
His men beside him hold him good
Till spent the foeman's breath;
Where at our sides a Briton stood,
A Briton sank in death;
Though weak our men with blood and sweat,
Our sides a riddled wreck,
Yet ne'er a British foot is set
Upon the Armstrong's deck.
Three hundred men their Admiral sent
Our schooner's ways to mend:
A hundred British sailors went
Down to a warrior's end.
Two of our lads in death are red,
But safe the flag above:
God grant that never worse be sped
The fray for all we love!
The General Armstrong lies beneath
The waves in far Fayal,
But still his countrymen shall wreathe
Reid's name with laurels tall;
The sun and moon are fair to see
Above the blue Azores,
But fairer far Reid's victory
Beside their storied shores.
Oh, the sun sets red, the moon shines white,
And blue is Fayal's clear sky;
The sun and moon and sky are bright,
And the sea, and stars on high;
But the name of Reid and the fame of Reid
And the flag of his ship and crew
Are brighter far than sea or star
Or the heavens' red, white, and blue:
So lift your voices once again
For the land we love so dear,
For the fighting Captain and the men
Of the Yankee Privateer.
Wallace Rice.
Major-General Andrew Jackson had been intrusted with the task of defending the South, and especially New Orleans, from the expected British invasion. On September 15, 1814, a British fleet and land force invested Fort Bowyer, which commanded the entrance to Mobile, but were beaten off and forced to retire, after a desperate struggle, in which one of the British ships was blown up.
FORT BOWYER
[September 15, 1814]
Where the wild wave, from ocean proudly swelling,
Mexico's shores, wide stretching, with its billowy
Surge, in its sweep laves, and, with lashing foam, breaks,
Rough in its whiteness;
See where the flag of Freedom, with its light wreaths,
Floats on the wind, in buoyancy expanded
High o'er the walls of Bowyer's dauntless breastwork,
Proudly and fearless.
Loud roll thy thunders, Albion; and thy missile
Boasts throng the air with lightning flash tremendous,
Whilst the dark wave, illuminated bright, shines
Sparkling with death-lights.
Shrink then that band of freemen, at the onslaught?
Palsy those arms that wield the unerring rifles?
Strikes chill the breast dread fear? or coward paleness
Whiten the blanch'd cheek?
No! round that flag, undaunted, midst the loud din,
Like their own shores, which mountain surges move not
Breasted and firm, and heedless of the war-shock,
Rallying they stand fast.
"Look," Lawrence cries, "brave comrades; how the foe proud
Quails at our charge, with recreant spirit flying:"
Like Rome's bold chief, he came and saw, but neither
Awed us, nor conquer'd.
Charles L. S. Jones.
Jackson hastened to New Orleans, and reached there just as a great British fleet appeared in the offing. He determined to attack the enemy as soon as they started to land, and on the night of December 23 he drove in their advance guard. Then he intrenched his little army, and on January 8, 1815, was attacked by the full British force, seven thousand strong. Their advance was checked by the steady fire of Jackson's riflemen, and the enemy was finally routed with a loss of over two thousand. The American loss was eight killed and thirteen wounded.
THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS
[January 8, 1815]
Here, in my rude log cabin,
Few poorer men there be
Among the mountain ranges
Of Eastern Tennessee.
My limbs are weak and shrunken,
White hairs upon my brow,
My dog—lie still old fellow!—
My sole companion now.
Yet I, when young and lusty,
Have gone through stirring scenes,
[For I went down with Carroll]
To fight at New Orleans.
You say you'd like to hear me
The stirring story tell,
Of those who stood the battle
And those who fighting fell.
Short work to count our losses—
We stood and dropped the foe
As easily as by firelight
Men shoot the buck or doe.
And while they fell by hundreds
Upon the bloody plain,
Of us, fourteen were wounded
And only eight were slain.
The eighth of January,
Before the break of day,
Our raw and hasty levies
Were brought into array.
No cotton-bales before us—
Some fool that falsehood told;
Before us was an earthwork
Built from the swampy mould
And there we stood in silence,
And waited with a frown.
To greet with bloody welcome
The bull-dogs of the Crown.
The heavy fog of morning
Still hid the plain from sight,
When came a thread of scarlet
Marked faintly in the white.
We fired a single cannon,
And as its thunders rolled,
The mist before us lifted
In many a heavy fold—
The mist before us lifted
And in their bravery fine
Came rushing to their ruin
The fearless British line.
Then from our waiting cannon
Leaped forth the deadly flame,
To meet the advancing columns
That swift and steady came.
The thirty-twos of Crowley
And Bluchi's twenty-four
To Spotts's eighteen-pounders
Responded with their roar,
Sending the grape-shot deadly
That marked its pathway plain,
And paved the road it travelled
With corpses of the slain.
Our rifles firmly grasping,
And heedless of the din,
We stood in silence waiting
For orders to begin.
Our fingers on the triggers,
Our hearts, with anger stirred,
Grew still more fierce and eager
As Jackson's voice was heard:
"Stand steady! Waste no powder!
Wait till your shots will tell!
To-day the work you finish—
See that you do it well!"
Their columns drawing nearer,
We felt our patience tire,
When came the voice of Carroll,
Distinct and measured, "Fire!"
Oh! then you should have marked us
Our volleys on them pour—
Have heard our joyous rifles
Ring sharply through the roar,
And seen their foremost columns
Melt hastily away
As snow in mountain gorges
Before the floods of May.
They soon re-formed their columns,
And, mid the fatal rain
We never ceased to hurtle,
Came to their work again.
The Forty-fourth is with them,
That first its laurels won
With stout old Abercrombie
Beneath an eastern sun.
It rushes to the battle,
And, though within the rear
Its leader is a laggard,
It shows no signs of fear.
It did not need its colonel,
For soon there came instead
An eagle-eyed commander,
And on its march he led.
['Twas Pakenham in person],
The leader of the field;
I knew it by the cheering
That loudly round him pealed;
And by his quick, sharp movement
We felt his heart was stirred,
As when at Salamanca
He led the fighting Third.
I raised my rifle quickly,
I sighted at his breast,
God save the gallant leader
And take him to his rest!
I did not draw the trigger,
I could not for my life.
So calm he sat his charger
Amid the deadly strife,
That in my fiercest moment
A prayer arose from me—
God save that gallant leader,
Our foeman though he be!
Sir Edward's charger staggers;
He leaps at once to ground.
And ere the beast falls bleeding
Another horse is found.
His right arm falls—'tis wounded;
He waves on high his left;
In vain he leads the movement,
The ranks in twain are cleft.
The men in scarlet waver
Before the men in brown,
And fly in utter panic—
The soldiers of the Crown!
I thought the work was over,
But nearer shouts were heard,
[And came, with Gibbs to head it],
The gallant Ninety-third.
Then Pakenham, exulting,
With proud and joyous glance,
Cried, "Children of the tartan—
Bold Highlanders—advance!
Advance to scale the breastworks,
And drive them from their hold,
And show the stainless courage
That marked your sires of old!"
His voice as yet was ringing,
When, quick as light, there came
The roaring of a cannon,
And earth seemed all aflame.
Who causes thus the thunder
The doom of men to speak?
[It is the Baratarian],
The fearless Dominique.
Down through the marshalled Scotsmen
The step of death is heard,
And by the fierce tornado
Falls half the Ninety-third.
The smoke passed slowly upward
And, as it soared on high,
I saw the brave commander
In dying anguish lie.
They bear him from the battle
Who never fled the foe;
Unmoved by death around them
His bearers softly go.
In vain their care, so gentle,
Fades earth and all its scenes;
The man of Salamanca
Lies dead at New Orleans.
But where were his lieutenants?
Had they in terror fled?
No! [Keane was sorely wounded]
And Gibbs as good as dead.
Brave Wilkinson commanding,
A major of brigade,
The shattered force to rally
A final effort made.
He led it up our ramparts,
Small glory did he gain—
Our captives some; some slaughtered,
And he himself was slain.
The stormers had retreated,
The bloody work was o'er;
The feet of the invaders
Were soon to leave our shore.
We rested on our rifles
And talked about the fight,
When came a sudden murmur
Like fire from left to right;
We turned and saw our chieftain,
And then, good friend of mine,
You should have heard the cheering
That rang along the line.
For well our men remembered
How little, when they came,
Had they but native courage,
And trust in Jackson's name;
How through the day he labored,
How kept the vigils still,
Till discipline controlled us—
A stronger power than will;
And how he hurled us at them
Within the evening hour,
That red night in December
And made us feel our power.
In answer to our shouting
Fire lit his eye of gray;
Erect, but thin and pallid,
He passed upon his bay.
Weak from the baffled fever,
And shrunken in each limb,
The swamps of Alabama
Had done their work on him;
But spite of that and fasting,
And hours of sleepless care,
The soul of Andrew Jackson
Shone forth in glory there.
Thomas Dunn English.
JACKSON AT NEW ORLEANS
Hear through the morning drums and trumpets sounding,
Rumbling of cannon, tramp of mighty armies;
Then the mist sunders, all the plain disclosing
Scarlet for England.
Batteries roll on, halt, and flashing lightnings
Search out our earthworks, silent and portentous.
Fierce on our right with crimson banners tossing
Their lines spring forward.
Lanyards in hand, Americans and seamen,
Gunners from warships, Lafitte's privateers-men,
Roar out our thunders till the grape and shrapnel
Shriek through their columns.
Shattered in fragments, thus their right is riven;
But on our left a deadlier bolt is speeding:
Wellesley's Peninsulars, never yet defeated,
Charge in their valor.
Closing their files, our cannon fire disdaining,
Dauntless they come with vict'ry on their standards;
Then slowly rise the rifles of our marksmen,
Tennessee hunters.
Cradles of flame and scythes of whistling bullets
Lay them in windrows, war's infernal harvest.
High through the onslaught Tennessee is shouting,
Joying in battle.
Pakenham falls there, Keane and his Highlanders
Close from the centre, hopeless in their courage;
Backward they stagger, dying and disabled,
Gloriously routed.
Stilled are our rifles as our cheers grow louder:
War clouds sweep back in January breezes,
Showing the dreadful proof of the great triumph
God hath vouchsafed us.
That gallant war-host, England's best and bravest,
Met by raw levies, scores against its hundreds,
Lies at our feet, a thing for woman's weeping,
Reddening the meadows.
Freed are our States from European tyrants:
Lift then your voices for the little army
Led by our battle-loving Andrew Jackson,
Blest of Jehovah.
Wallace Rice.
The British were permitted to retire unmolested to their ships, and the sails of that mighty fleet were soon fading away along the horizon. Neither victor nor vanquished knew that a treaty of peace had been signed at Ghent two weeks before, and that the battle need never have been fought.
TO THE DEFENDERS OF NEW ORLEANS
Hail sons of generous valor,
Who now embattled stand,
To wield the brand of strife and blood,
For Freedom and the land.
And hail to him your laurelled chief,
Around whose trophied name
A nation's gratitude has twined
The wreath of deathless fame.
Now round that gallant leader
Your iron phalanx form,
And throw, like Ocean's barrier rocks,
Your bosoms to the storm.
Though wild as Ocean's wave it rolls,
Its fury shall be low,
For justice guides the warrior's steel,
And vengeance strikes the blow.
High o'er the gleaming columns,
The bannered star appears,
And proud amid its martial band,
His crest the eagle rears.
And long as patriot valor's arm
Shall win the battle's prize,
That star shall beam triumphantly,
That eagle seek the skies.
Then on, ye daring spirits,
To danger's tumults now,
The bowl is filled and wreathed the crown,
To grace the victor's brow;
And they who for their country die,
Shall fill an honored grave;
For glory lights the soldier's tomb,
And beauty weeps the brave.
Joseph Rodman Drake.
Prominent among the forces under Jackson was a brigade of eight hundred Kentucky riflemen, commanded by General John Coffee. They had marched eight hundred miles through a wilderness, having covered the last hundred miles in less than two days—a march almost unequalled in history. Jackson spoke of this brigade as the right arm of his army.
THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY
Ye gentlemen and ladies fair,
Who grace this famous city,
Just listen, if you've time to spare,
While I rehearse a ditty;
And for the opportunity
Conceive yourselves quite lucky,
For 'tis but seldom that you see
A hunter from Kentucky.
Oh! Kentucky,
The hunters of Kentucky.
We are a hardy free-born race,
Each man to fear a stranger;
Whate'er the game, we join in chase,
Despising toil and danger:
And if a daring foe annoys,
Whate'er his strength or force is,
We'll show him that Kentucky boys
Are Alligator-horses.
I s'pose you've read it in the prints,
How Pakenham attempted
To make old Hickory Jackson wince,
But soon his schemes repented;
For we, with rifles ready cock'd,
Thought such occasion lucky,
And soon around the general flock'd
The hunters of Kentucky.
I s'pose you've heard how New Orleans
Is famed for wealth and beauty;
They've gals of every hue, it seems,
From snowy white to sooty:
So Pakenham he made his brags
If he in fight was lucky,
He'd have their gals and cotton bags,
In spite of Old Kentucky.
But Jackson he was wide awake,
And wasn't scared at trifles,
For well he knew what aim we take
With our Kentucky rifles;
So he led us down to Cypress Swamp,
The ground was low and mucky;
There stood John Bull in martial pomp—
But here was Old Kentucky.
We raised a bank to hide our breasts,
Not that we thought of dying,
But then we always like to rest,
Unless the game is flying:
Behind it stood our little force—
None wish'd it to be greater,
For every man was half a horse
And half an alligator.
They didn't let our patience tire
Before they show'd their faces;
We didn't choose to waste our fire,
But snugly kept our places;
And when so near we saw them wink,
We thought it time to stop 'em,
It would have done you good, I think,
To see Kentuckians drop 'em.
They found, at length, 'twas vain to fight,
When lead was all their booty,
And so they wisely took to flight,
And left us all the beauty.
And now, if danger e'er annoys,
Remember what our trade is;
Just send for us Kentucky boys,
And we'll protect you, ladies:
Oh! Kentucky,
The hunters of Kentucky.
Another useless action, but a most remarkable one, was fought by the famous old Constitution, near Madeira, on February 20, 1815. On the afternoon of that day she sighted and overhauled the British 32-gun frigate Cyane and the 20-gun sloop Levant. She attacked them simultaneously, and after a fierce fight compelled them both to surrender.
THE CONSTITUTION'S LAST FIGHT
[February 20, 1815]
A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew—
Constitution, where ye bound for?
Wherever, my lad, there's fight to be had
Acrost the Western ocean.
[Our captain] was married in Boston town
And sailed next day to sea;
For all must go when the State says so;
Blow high, blow low, sailed we.
"Now, what shall I bring for a bridal gift
When my home-bound pennant flies?
The rarest that be on land or sea
It shall be my lady's prize."
"There's never a prize on sea or land
Could bring such joy to me
As my true love sound and homeward bound
With a king's ship under his lee."
The Western ocean is wide and deep,
And wild its tempests blow,
But bravely rides "Old Ironsides,"
A-cruising to and fro.
We cruised to the east and we cruised to north,
And southing far went we,
And at last off Cape de Verd we raised
Two frigates sailing free.
Oh, God made man, and man made ships,
But God makes very few
Like him who sailed our ship that day,
And fought her, one to two.
He gained the weather-gage of both,
He held them both a-lee;
And gun for gun, till set of sun,
He spoke them fair and free;
Till the night-fog fell on spar and sail,
And ship, and sea, and shore,
And our only aim was the bursting flame
And the hidden cannon's roar.
Then a long rift in the mist showed up
The stout Cyane, close-hauled
To swing in our wake and our quarter rake,
And a boasting Briton bawled:
"Starboard and larboard, we've got him fast
Where his heels won't take him through;
Let him luff or wear, he'll find us there,—
Ho, Yankee, which will you do?"
We did not luff and we did not wear,
But braced our topsails back,
Till the sternway drew us fair and true
Broadsides athwart her track.
Athwart her track and across her bows
We raked her fore and aft,
And out of the fight and into the night
Drifted the beaten craft.
The slow Levant came up too late;
No need had we to stir;
Her decks we swept with fire, and kept
The flies from troubling her.
We raked her again, and her flag came down,—
The haughtiest flag that floats,—
And the lime-juice dogs lay there like logs,
With never a bark in their throats.
With never a bark and never a bite,
But only an oath to break,
As we squared away for Praya Bay
With our prizes in our wake.
Parole they gave and parole they broke,
What matters the cowardly cheat,
If the captain's bride was satisfied
With the one prize laid at her feet?
A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew—
Constitution, where ye bound for?
Wherever the British prizes be,
Though it's one to two, or one to three,—
"Old Ironsides" means victory,
Acrost the Western ocean.
James Jeffrey Roche.
News of the peace did not reach America until February 11, 1815. It was hailed with rejoicing everywhere.
SEA AND LAND VICTORIES
With half the Western world at stake,
See Perry on the midland lake,
The unequal combat dare;
Unawed by vastly stronger pow'rs,
He met the foe and made him ours,
And closed the savage war.
Macdonough, too, on Lake Champlain,
In ships outnumbered, guns, and men,
Saw dangers thick increase;
His trust in God and virtue's cause
He conquer'd in the lion's jaws,
And led the way to peace.
To sing each valiant hero's name
Whose deeds have swelled the files of fame,
Requires immortal powers;
Columbia's warriors never yield
To equal force by sea or field,
Her eagle never cowers.
Long as Niagara's cataract roars
Or Erie laves our Northern shores,
Great Brown, thy fame shall rise;
Outnumber'd by a veteran host
Of conquering heroes, Britain's boast—
Conquest was there thy prize.
At Plattsburg, see the Spartan band,
Where gallant Macomb held command,
The unequal host oppose;
Provost confounded, vanquished flies,
Convinced that numbers won't suffice
Where Freemen are the foes.
Our songs to noblest strains we'll raise
While we attempt thy matchless praise,
Carolina's godlike son;
While Mississippi rolls his flood,
Or Freemen's hearts move patriots' blood,
The palm shall be thine own.
At Orleans—lo! a savage band,
In countless numbers gain the strand,
"Beauty and spoil" the word—
There Jackson with his fearless few,
The invincibles by thousands slew,
And dire destruction poured.
O Britain! when the tale is told
Of Jackson's deeds by fame enrolled,
Should grief and madness rise,
Remember God, the avenger, reigns,
Who witnessed Havre's smoking plains,
And Hampton's female cries.
ODE TO PEACE
Oh! breathe upon this hapless world,
And bid our pains and sorrows cease;
Broad be thy snowy flag unfurl'd,
And may we hail thy coming, peace!
For long enough has ruin stalk'd,
With force and terror o'er our earth;
Around them hideous spectres walk'd,
And evil nurs'd his monstrous birth.
Ah! banish'd from these happy skies,
By thee, be soon these boding stars,
Which erring made mankind arise,
To deeds of sin, to blood and wars.
Philadelphia, 1816.