CHAPTER VIII
THE WAR ON THE WATER
At the outbreak of the Revolution, the colonies had no navy, but a number of cruisers and privateers were soon fitted out, and by the end of 1776 nearly three hundred British vessels had fallen into the hands of the Americans. This activity was kept up during the succeeding year, the cruise of the Fair American, as described in the old ballad of that name, being one of the most noteworthy.
[THE CRUISE OF THE FAIR AMERICAN]
[1777]
The twenty-second of August,
Before the close of day,
All hands on board of our privateer,
We got her under weigh;
We kept the Eastern shore along,
For forty leagues or more,
Then our departure took for sea,
From the isle of Mauhegan shore.
[Bold Hawthorne] was commander,
A man of real worth,
Old England's cruel tyranny
Induced him to go forth;
She, with relentless fury,
Was plundering all our coast,
And thought, because her strength was great,
Our glorious cause was lost.
Yet boast not, haughty Britons,
Of power and dignity,
By land thy conquering armies,
Thy matchless strength at sea;
Since taught by numerous instances
Americans can fight,
With valor can equip their stand,
Your armies put to flight.
Now farewell to fair America,
Farewell our friends and wives;
We trust in Heaven's peculiar care
For to protect their lives;
To prosper our intended cruise
Upon the raging main,
And to preserve our dearest friends
Till we return again.
The wind it being leading,
It bore us on our way,
As far unto the southward
As the Gulf of Florida;
Where we fell in with a British ship,
Bound homeward from the main;
We gave her two bow-chasers,
And she returned the same.
We haulèd up our courses,
And so prepared for fight;
The contest held four glasses,
Until the dusk of night;
Then having sprung our main-mast,
And had so large a sea,
We dropped astern and left our chase
Till the returning day.
Next morn we fished our main-mast,
The ship still being nigh,
All hands made for engaging,
Our chance once more to try;
But wind and sea being boisterous,
Our cannon would not bear,
We thought it quite imprudent
And so we left her there.
We cruisèd to the eastward,
Near the coast of Portugal,
In longitude of twenty-seven
We saw a lofty sail;
We gave her chase, and soon perceived
She was a British snow
Standing for fair America,
With troops for General Howe.
Our captain did inspect her
With glasses, and he said,
"My boys, she means to fight us,
But be you not afraid;
All hands repair to quarters,
See everything is clear,
We'll give her a broadside, my boys,
As soon as she comes near."
She was prepared with nettings,
And her men were well secured,
And bore directly for us,
And put us close on board;
When the cannon roared like thunder,
And the muskets fired amain,
But soon we were alongside
And grappled to her chain.
And now the scene it altered,
The cannon ceased to roar,
We fought with swords and boarding-pikes
One glass or something more,
Till British pride and glory
No longer dared to stay,
But cut the Yankee grapplings,
And quickly bore away.
Our case was not so desperate
As plainly might appear;
Yet sudden death did enter
On board our privateer.
Mahoney, Crew, and Clemmons,
The valiant and the brave,
Fell glorious in the contest,
And met a watery grave.
Ten other men were wounded
Among our warlike crew,
With them our noble captain,
To whom all praise is due;
To him and all our officers
Let's give a hearty cheer;
Success to fair America
And our good privateer.
The Americans were not without their losses, and one of the most serious occurred early in 1778. On the morning of March 7, the 32-gun frigate Randolph, Captain Nicholas Biddle, while cruising off Barbadoes, fell in with the English 64-gun ship of the line Yarmouth, and attacked immediately. The fight had lasted about an hour when the Randolph's magazine was in some way fired, and the ship blew up. Of the crew of three hundred and fifteen, only four were saved.
ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN NICHOLAS BIDDLE
[March 7, 1778]
What distant thunders rend the skies,
What clouds of smoke in volumes rise,
What means this dreadful roar!
Is from his base Vesuvius thrown,
Is sky-topt Atlas tumbled down,
Or Etna's self no more!
Shock after shock torments my ear;
And lo! two hostile ships appear,
Red lightnings round them glow:
The Yarmouth boasts of sixty-four,
The Randolph thirty-two—no more—
And will she fight this foe!
The Randolph soon on Stygian streams
Shall coast along the land of dreams,
The islands of the dead!
But fate, that parts them on the deep,
Shall save the Briton, still to weep
His ancient honors fled.
Say, who commands that dismal blaze,
Where yonder starry streamer plays;
Does Mars with Jove engage!
'Tis Biddle wings those angry fires,
Biddle, whose bosom Jove inspires
With more than mortal rage.
Tremendous flash! and hark, the ball
Drives through old Yarmouth, flames and all;
Her bravest sons expire;
Did Mars himself approach so nigh,
Even Mars, without disgrace, might fly
The Randolph's fiercer fire.
The Briton views his mangled crew,
"And shall we strike to thirty-two"
(Said Hector, stained with gore);
"Shall Britain's flag to these descend—
Rise, and the glorious conflict end,
Britons, I ask no more!"
He spoke—they charged their cannon round,
Again the vaulted heavens resound,
The Randolph bore it all,
Then fixed her pointed cannons true—
Away the unwieldy vengeance flew;
Britain, the warriors fall.
The Yarmouth saw, with dire dismay,
Her wounded hull, shrouds shot away,
Her boldest heroes dead—
She saw amidst her floating slain
The conquering Randolph stem the main—
She saw, she turned, and fled!
That hour, blest chief, had she been thine,
Dear Biddle, had the powers divine
Been kind as thou wert brave;
But fate, who doomed thee to expire,
Prepared an arrow tipped with fire,
And marked a watery grave,
And in that hour when conquest came
Winged at his ship a pointed flame
That not even he could shun—
The conquest ceased, the Yarmouth fled,
The bursting Randolph ruin spread,
And lost what honor won.
Philip Freneau.
Among the most successful of the Yankee privateers was the Providence, and her most famous exploit was performed in July, 1779, when she attacked a fleet of merchantmen, under convoy of a ship of the line and some cruisers, and captured ten prizes, nine of which, valued at over a million dollars, were got safely to Boston. The Providence was commanded by Abraham Whipple, the hero of the Gaspee exploit and of a hundred others.
THE YANKEE PRIVATEER
[July, 1779]
Come listen and I'll tell you
How first I went to sea,
To fight against the British
And earn our liberty.
We shipped with Cap'n Whipple
Who never knew a fear,
The Captain of the Providence,
The Yankee Privateer.
We sailed and we sailed
And made good cheer,
There were many pretty men
On the Yankee Privateer.
The British Lord High Admiral
He wished old Whipple harm,
He wrote that he would hang him
At the end of his yard arm.
"My Lord," wrote Cap'n Whipple back,
"It seems to me it's clear
That if you want to hang him,
You must catch your Privateer."
We sailed and we sailed
And made good cheer,
For not a British frigate
Could come near the Privateer.
We sailed to the south'ard,
And nothing did we meet,
Till we found three British frigates
And their West Indian fleet.
Old Whipple shut our ports
As we crawled up near,
And he sent us all below
On the Yankee Privateer.
So slowly he sailed
We dropped to the rear,
And not a soul suspected
The Yankee Privateer.
At night we put the lights out
And forward we ran
And silently we boarded
The biggest merchantman.
We knocked down the watch,—
And the lubbers shook for fear,
She's a prize without a shot
To the Yankee Privateer.
We sent the prize north
While we lay near
And all day we slept
On the bold Privateer.
For ten nights we followed,
And ere the moon rose,
Each night a prize we'd taken
Beneath the Lion's nose.
When the British looked to see
Why their ships should disappear,
They found they had in convoy
A Yankee Privateer.
But we sailed and sailed
And made good cheer!
Not a coward was on board
Of the Yankee Privateer.
The biggest British frigate
Bore round to give us chase,
But though he was the fleeter
Old Whipple wouldn't race,
Till he'd raked her fore and aft,
For the lubbers couldn't steer,
Then he showed them the heels
Of the Yankee Privateer.
Then we sailed and we sailed
And we made good cheer,
For not a British frigate
Could come near the Privateer.
Then northward we sailed
To the town we all know,
And there lay our prizes
All anchored in a row;
And welcome were we
To our friends so dear,
And we shared a million dollars
On the bold Privateer.
We'd sailed and we'd sailed
And we made good cheer,
We had all full pockets
On the bold Privateer.
Then we each manned a ship
And our sails we unfurled,
And we bore the Stars and Stripes
O'er the oceans of the world.
From the proud flag of Britain
We swept the seas clear,
And we earned our independence
On the Yankee Privateer.
Then landsmen and sailors,
One more cheer!
Here is three times three
For the Yankee Privateer!
Arthur Hale.
The achievements of other American naval captains were soon eclipsed by those of John Paul Jones, a Scotch sailor, settled in Virginia, who, at the outbreak of the war, offered his services to Congress. In 1776, on board the Alfred, in the Delaware River, he raised the first flag of the Revolution,—a pine tree, with a rattlesnake coiled at the foot, and the motto, "Don't tread on me."
PAUL JONES
A song unto Liberty's brave Buccaneer,
Ever bright be the fame of the patriot Rover,
For our rights he first fought in his "black privateer,"
And faced the proud foe ere our sea they cross'd over,
In their channel and coast,
He scattered their host,
And proud Britain robbed of her sea-ruling boast,
And her rich merchants' barks shunned the ocean in fear
Of Paul Jones, fair Liberty's brave Buccaneer.
In the first fleet that sailed in defence of our land,
Paul Jones forward stood to defend freedom's arbor,
He led the bold Alfred at Hopkins' command,
And drove the fierce foeman from Providence harbor,
'Twas his hand that raised
The first flag that blazed,
And his deeds 'neath the "Pine tree" all ocean amaz'd,
For hundreds of foes met a watery bier
From Paul Jones, fair Liberty's brave Buccaneer.
His arm crushed the Tory and mutinous crew
That strove to have freemen inhumanly butchered;
Remember his valor at proud Flamborough,
When he made the bold Serapis strike to the Richard;
Oh! he robbed of their store
The vessels sent o'er
To feed all the Tories and foes on our shore,
He gave freemen the spoils and long may they revere
The name of fair Liberty's bold Buccaneer.
In 1778 he was sent with the 18-gun ship Ranger to prowl about the British coasts. He entered the Irish Channel, seized the Lord Chatham, set fire to the shipping at Whitehaven, and captured the British 20-gun sloop Drake, after a fierce fight. With the Drake and several merchant prizes, he made his way to Brest, and prepared for a more important expedition which was fitting out for the following year.
[1778]
'Tis of a gallant Yankee ship that flew the stripes and stars,
And the whistling wind from the west-nor'-west blew through the pitch-pine spars,—
With her starboard tacks aboard, my boys, she hung upon the gale,
On an autumn night we raised the light on the old head of Kinsale.
It was a clear and cloudless night, and the wind blew steady and strong,
As gayly over the sparkling deep our good ship bowled along;
With the foaming seas beneath her bow the fiery waves she spread,
And bending low her bosom of snow, she buried her lee cat-head.
There was no talk of short'ning sail by him who walked the poop,
And under the press of her pond'ring jib, the boom bent like a hoop!
And the groaning water-ways told the strain that held her stout main-tack,
But he only laughed as he glanced aloft at a white and silv'ry track.
The mid-tide meets in the channel waves that flow from shore to shore,
And the mist hung heavy upon the land from Featherstone to Dunmore,
And that sterling light in Tusker Rock where the old bell tolls each hour,
And the beacon light that shone so bright was quench'd on Waterford Tower.
The nightly robes our good ship wore were her own top-sails three,
Her spanker and her standing jib—the courses being free;
"Now, lay aloft! my heroes bold, let not a moment pass!"
And royals and top-gallant sails were quickly on each mast.
What looms upon our starboard bow? What hangs upon the breeze?
'Tis time our good ship hauled her wind abreast the old Saltee's,
For by her ponderous press of sail and by her consorts four
We saw our morning visitor was a British man-of-war.
Up spake our noble Captain then, as a shot ahead of us past—
"Haul snug your flowing courses! lay your top-sail to the mast!"
Those Englishmen gave three loud hurrahs from the deck of their covered ark,
And we answered back by a solid broadside from the decks of our patriot bark.
"Out booms! out booms!" our skipper cried, "out booms and give her sheet,"
And the swiftest keel that was ever launched shot ahead of the British fleet,
And amidst a thundering shower of shot with stun'-sails hoisting away,
Down the North Channel Paul Jones did steer just at the break of day.
The new squadron sailed for the English coast in the summer of 1779. It consisted of the flagship—a clumsy old Indiaman called the Duras, whose name Jones changed to Bon Homme Richard—and four consorts. The summer was spent in cruising about the British coast and so much damage was done that Paul Jones became a sort of bogey to all England.
[PAUL JONES]—A NEW SONG
Of heroes and statesmen I'll just mention four,
That cannot be match'd, if we trace the world o'er,
For none of such fame ever stept o'er the stones,
[As Green, Jemmy Twitcher], Lord North, and Paul Jones.
Thro' a mad-hearted war, which old England will rue,
At London, at Dublin, and Edinburgh, too,
The tradesmen stand still, and the merchant bemoans
The losses he meets with from such as Paul Jones.
How happy for England, would Fortune but sweep
At once all her treacherous foes to the deep;
For the land under burthens most bitterly groans,
To get rid of some that are worse than Paul Jones.
To each honest heart that is Britain's true friend,
In bumpers I'll freely this toast recommend,
May Paul be converted, the Ministry purg'd,
Old England be free, and her enemies scourg'd!
If success to our fleets be not quickly restor'd,
The Leaders in office to shove from the board;
May they all fare alike, and the De'il pick the bones
Of Green, Jemmy Twitcher, Lord North, and Paul Jones!
On September 23, 1779, the little squadron sighted a British fleet of forty sail off Flamborough Head. They were merchantmen bound for the Baltic under convoy of the Serapis, forty-four, and the Countess of Scarborough, twenty. Captain Jones instantly gave chase, ordering his consorts to form in line of battle, but the Alliance, whose command had been given to a Frenchman, ran off to some distance, leaving the Richard to attack the Serapis single-handed, while the Pallas took care of the Scarborough.
PAUL JONES
[September 23, 1779]
An American frigate from Baltimore came,
Her guns mounted forty, the Richard by name;
Went to cruise in the channel of old England,
With a noble commander, Paul Jones was the man.
We had not sail'd long before we did espy
A large forty-four, and a twenty close by:
These two warlike ships, full laden with store,
Our captain pursued to the bold Yorkshire shore.
At the hour of twelve, [Pierce] came alongside.
With a loud speaking-trumpet, "Whence came you?" he cried;
"Quick give me an answer, I hail'd you before,
Or this very instant a broadside I'll pour."
Paul Jones he exclaimed, "My brave boys, we'll not run:
Let every brave seaman stand close to his gun;"
When a broadside was fired by these brave Englishmen,
We bold buckskin heroes return'd it again.
We fought them five glasses, five glasses most hot,
Till fifty brave seamen lay dead on the spot,
And full seventy more lay bleeding in their gore,
Whilst Pierce's loud cannon on the Richard did roar.
Our gunner, affrighted, unto Paul Jones he came,
"Our ship is a-sinking, likewise in a flame;"
Paul Jones he replied, in the height of his pride,
"If we can do no better, we'll sink alongside."
At length our shot flew so quick, they could not stand:
The flag of proud Britain was forced to come down,
[The Alliance bore down and the Richard did rake],
Which caused the heart of Richard to ache.
Come now, my brave buckskin, we've taken a prize,
A large forty-four, and a twenty likewise;
They are both noble vessels, well laden with store!
We will toss off the can to our country once more.
God help the poor widows, who shortly must weep
For the loss of their husbands, now sunk in the deep!
We'll drink to brave Paul Jones, who, with sword in hand,
Shone foremost in action, and gave us command.
The Serapis was greatly superior to the Richard in armament and fighting qualities, but Jones succeeded in running his vessel into her and lashing fast. So close did they lie that their yardarms interlocked and both ships were soon covered with dead and wounded. At the end of two hours, the Serapis was on fire; but the Richard was already sinking. Half an hour later the Serapis surrendered. The Richard was kept afloat with great difficulty until morning, when she sank.
THE BONHOMME RICHARD AND SERAPIS
[September 23, 1779]
O'er the rough main, with flowing sheet,
The guardian of a numerous fleet,
Serapis from the Baltic came:
A ship of less tremendous force
Sail'd by her side the self-same course,
Countess of Scarb'ro' was her name.
And now their native coasts appear,
Britannia's hills their summits rear
Above the German main;
Fond to suppose their dangers o'er,
They southward coast along the shore,
Thy waters, gentle Thames, to gain.
[Full forty guns Serapis bore],
And Scarb'ro's Countess twenty-four,
Mann'd with Old England's boldest tars—
What flag that rides the Gallic seas
Shall dare attack such piles as these,
Design'd for tumults and for wars!
Now from the top-mast's giddy height
A seaman cry'd—"Four sail in sight
Approach with favoring gales."
Pearson, resolv'd to save the fleet,
Stood off to sea, these ships to meet,
And closely brac'd his shivering sails.
With him advanc'd the Countess bold,
Like a black tar in wars grown old:
And now these floating piles drew nigh.
But, muse, unfold what chief of fame
In the other warlike squadron came,
Whose standards at his mast-head fly.
'Twas Jones, brave Jones, to battle led
As bold a crew as ever bled
Upon the sky-surrounded main;
The standards of the western world
Were to the willing winds unfurl'd,
Denying Britain's tyrant reign.
The Good-Man-Richard led the line;
The Alliance next: with these combine
The Gallic ship they Pallas call,
The Vengeance arm'd with sword and flame;
These to attack the Britons came—
But two accomplish'd all.
Now Phœbus sought his pearly bed:
But who can tell the scenes of dread,
The horrors of that fatal night!
Close up these floating castles came:
The Good-Man-Richard bursts in flame;
Serapis trembled at the sight.
She felt the fury of her ball:
Down, prostrate, down the Britons fall;
The decks were strew'd with slain:
Jones to the foe his vessel lash'd;
And, while the black artillery flash'd,
Loud thunders shook the main.
Alas! that mortals should employ
Such murdering engines to destroy
That frame by heaven so nicely join'd;
Alas! that e'er the god decreed
That brother should by brother bleed,
And pour'd such madness in the mind.
But thou, brave Jones, no blame shalt bear,
The rights of man demand your care:
For these you dare the greedy waves.
No tyrant, on destruction bent,
Has plann'd thy conquest—thou art sent
To humble tyrants and their slaves.
See!—dread Serapis flames again—
And art thou, Jones, among the slain,
And sunk to Neptune's caves below?—
He lives—though crowds around him fall,
Still he, unhurt, survives them all;
Almost alone he fights the foe.
And can your ship these strokes sustain?
Behold your brave companions slain,
All clasp'd in ocean's cold embrace;
Strike, or be sunk—the Briton cries—
Sink if you can—the chief replies,
Fierce lightnings blazing in his face.
Then to the side three guns he drew
(Almost deserted by his crew),
And charg'd them deep with woe;
By Pearson's flash he aim'd hot balls;
His main-mast totters—down it falls—
O'erwhelming half below.
Pearson had yet disdain'd to yield,
But scarce his secret fears conceal'd,
And thus was heard to cry—
"With hell, not mortals, I contend;
What art thou—human, or a fiend,
That dost my force defy?
"Return, my lads, the fight renew!"—
So call'd bold Pearson to his crew;
But call'd, alas! in vain;
Some on the decks lay maim'd and dead;
Some to their deep recesses fled,
And hosts were shrouded in the main.
Distress'd, forsaken, and alone,
He haul'd his tatter'd standard down,
And yielded to his gallant foe;
[Bold Pallas soon the Countess took],—
Thus both their haughty colors struck,
Confessing what the brave can do.
But, Jones, too dearly didst thou buy
These ships possest so gloriously,
Too many deaths disgrac'd the fray:
Thy barque that bore the conquering flame,
That the proud Briton overcame,
Even she forsook thee on thy way;
For when the morn began to shine,
Fatal to her, the ocean brine
Pour'd through each spacious wound;
Quick in the deep she disappear'd;
But Jones to friendly Belgia steer'd,
With conquest and with glory crown'd.
Go on, great man, to scourge the foe,
And bid these haughty Britons know
They to our Thirteen Stars shall bend;
Those Stars that, veil'd in dark attire,
Long glimmer'd with a feeble fire,
But radiant now ascend.
Bend to the Stars that flaming rise
In western, not in eastern, skies,
Fair Freedom's reign restored—
So when the Magi, come from far,
Beheld the God-attending Star,
They trembled and ador'd.
Philip Freneau.
Another remarkable action was that between the Hyder Ali and the General Monk. The latter, a cruiser mounting twenty nine-pounders, had been harassing the American shipping in Delaware Bay, and the merchants of Philadelphia finally equipped the Hyder Ali, an old merchantman, with sixteen six-pounders, put Joshua Barney in command and started him after the British ship.
BARNEY'S INVITATION
[April, 1782]
Come all ye lads who know no fear,
To wealth and honor with me steer
[In the Hyder Ali] privateer,
Commanded by brave Barney.
She's new and true, and tight and sound,
Well rigged aloft, and all well found—
Come away and be with laurel crowned,
Away—and leave your lasses.
Accept our terms without delay,
And make your fortunes while you may,
Such offers are not every day
In the power of the jolly sailor.
Success and fame attend the brave,
But death the coward and the slave,
Who fears to plough the Atlantic wave,
To seek the bold invaders.
Come, then, and take a cruising bout,
Our ship sails well, there is no doubt,
She has been tried both in and out,
And answers expectation.
Let no proud foes whom Europe bore,
Distress our trade, insult our shore—
Teach them to know their reign is o'er,
Bold Philadelphia sailors!
We'll teach them how to sail so near,
Or to venture on the Delaware,
When we in warlike trim appear
And cruise without Henlopen.
Who cannot wounds and battle dare
Shall never clasp the blooming fair;
The brave alone their charms should share,
The brave are their protectors.
With hand and heart united all,
Prepared to conquer or to fall,
Attend, my lads, to honor's call,
Embark in our Hyder Ali.
From an Eastern prince she takes her name,
Who, smit with Freedom's sacred flame,
Usurping Britons brought to shame,
His country's wrongs avenging;
See, on her stern the waving stars—
Inured to blood, inured to wars,
Come, enter quick, my jolly tars,
To scourge these warlike Britons.
Here's grog enough—then drink a bout,
I know your hearts are firm and stout;
American blood will never give out,
And often we have proved it.
Though stormy oceans round us roll,
We'll keep a firm undaunted soul,
Befriended by the cheering bowl,
Sworn foes to melancholy:
When timorous landsmen lurk on shore,
'Tis ours to go where cannons roar—
On a coasting cruise we'll go once more,
Despisers of all danger;
And Fortune still, who crowns the brave,
Shall guard us over the gloomy wave;
A fearful heart betrays the knave—
Success to the Hyder Ali.
Philip Freneau.
The Hyder Ali sailed down the bay April 8, 1782, and met the Englishman near the capes. By skilful manœuvring, Barney was able to rake his antagonist; then, lashing fast, poured several broadsides in rapid succession into the enemy, who struck their colors at the end of thirty minutes.
SONG
ON CAPTAIN BARNEY'S VICTORY OVER THE SHIP GENERAL MONK
[April 8, 1782]
O'er the waste of waters cruising,
Long the General Monk had reigned;
All subduing, all reducing,
None her lawless rage restrained:
Many a brave and hearty fellow
Yielding to this warlike foe,
When her guns began to bellow
Struck his humbled colors low.
But grown bold with long successes,
Leaving the wide watery way,
She, a stranger to distresses,
Came to cruise within Cape May:
"Now we soon (said Captain Rogers)
Shall their men of commerce meet;
In our hold we'll have them lodgers,
We shall capture half their fleet.
"Lo! I see their van appearing—
Back our topsails to the mast—
They toward us full are steering
With a gentle western blast:
I've a list of all their cargoes,
All their guns, and all their men:
I am sure these modern Argos
Can't escape us one in ten:
"Yonder comes the Charming Sally
Sailing with the General Greene—
First we'll fight the Hyder Ali,
Taking her is taking them:
She intends to give us battle,
Bearing down with all her sail—
Now, boys, let our cannon rattle!
To take her we cannot fail.
"Our eighteen guns, each a nine-pounder,
Soon shall terrify this foe;
We shall maul her, we shall wound her,
Bringing rebel colors low."—
While he thus anticipated
Conquests that he could not gain,
He in the Cape May channel waited
For the ship that caused his pain.
Captain Barney then preparing,
Thus addressed his gallant crew—
"Now, brave lads, be bold and daring,
Let your hearts be firm and true;
This is a proud English cruiser,
Roving up and down the main,
We must fight her—must reduce her,
Though our decks be strewed with slain.
"Let who will be the survivor,
We must conquer or must die,
We must take her up the river,
Whate'er comes of you or I:
Though she shows most formidable
With her eighteen pointed nines,
And her quarters clad in sable,
Let us balk her proud designs.
"With four nine-pounders, and twelve sixes
We will face that daring band;
Let no dangers damp your courage,
Nothing can the brave withstand.
Fighting for your country's honor,
Now to gallant deeds aspire;
Helmsman, bear us down upon her,
Gunner, give the word to fire!"
Then yardarm and yardarm meeting,
Strait began the dismal fray,
Cannon mouths, each other greeting,
Belched their smoky flames away:
Soon the langrage, grape and chain shot,
That from Barney's cannons flew,
Swept the Monk, and cleared each round top,
Killed and wounded half her crew.
Captain Rogers strove to rally
But they from their quarters fled,
While the roaring Hyder Ali
Covered o'er his decks with dead.
When from their tops their dead men tumbled,
And the streams of blood did flow,
Then their proudest hopes were humbled
By their brave inferior foe.
All aghast, and all confounded,
They beheld their champions fall,
And their captain, sorely wounded,
Bade them quick for quarters call.
Then the Monk's proud flag descended,
And her cannon ceased to roar;
By her crew no more defended,
She confessed the contest o'er.
Come, brave boys, and fill your glasses,
You have humbled one proud foe,
No brave action this surpasses,
Fame shall tell the nation so—
Thus be Britain's woes completed,
Thus abridged her cruel reign,
Till she ever, thus defeated,
Yields the sceptre of the main.
Philip Freneau.
The last naval action of the war occurred December 19, 1782, when the American ship, South Carolina, forty guns, was chased and captured, off the Delaware, by the British ships Quebec, Diomede, and Astrea, carrying ninety-eight guns. A few days later a ballad describing the affair appeared in the loyalist papers as a letter "from a dejected Jonathan, a prisoner taken in the South Carolina, to his brother Ned at Philadelphia."
THE SOUTH CAROLINA
[December 19, 1782]
My dear brother Ned,
We are knock'd on the head,
No more let America boast;
We may all go to bed,
And that's enough said,
For the South Carolina we've lost.
The pride of our eyes,
I swear is a prize,
You never will see her again,
Unless thro' surprise,
You are brought where she lies,
A prisoner from the false main.
Oh Lord! what a sight!—
I was struck with affright,
When the Diomede's shot round us fell,
I feared that in spite,
They'd have slain us outright,
And sent us directly to h—l.
The Quebec did fire,
Or I'm a curs'd liar,
And the Astrea came up apace;
We could not retire
From the confounded fire,
They all were so eager in chase.
The Diomede's shot
Was damnation hot,
She was several times in a blaze;
It was not my lot
To go then to pot,
But I veow, I was struck with amaze.
And Ned, may I die,
Or be pok'd in a sty,
If ever I venture again
Where bullets do fly,
And the wounded do cry,
Tormented with anguish and pain.
[The Hope], I can tell,
And the brig Constance fell,
I swear, and I veow, in our sight;
The first I can say,
Was taken by day,
But the latter was taken at night.
I die to relate
What has been our fate,
How sadly our navies are shrunk;
The pride of our State
Begins to abate,
For the branches are lopp'd from the trunk.
The Congress must bend,
We shall fall in the end,
For the curs'd British sarpents are tough;
But, I think as you find,
I have enough penn'd
Of such cursèd, such vexatious stuff.
Yet how vexing to find
We are left all behind,
That by sad disappointment we're cross'd;
Ah, fortune unkind!
Thou afflicted'st my mind,
When the South Carolina we lost.
Our enemy vile,
Cunning Digby does smile,
Is pleasèd at our mischance;
He useth each wile
Our fleets to beguile,
And to check our commerce with France.
No more as a friend,
Our ships to defend,
Of South Carolina we boast;
As a foe in the end,
She will us attend,
For the South Carolina we've lost.