THE SLAVE SHIP, A GALLEY YARN.
Come all you gallant sailors bold, that to the seas belong,
Oh listen unto me, my boys, while I recount my song;
’Tis concerning of an action that was fought the other day,
By the saucy little Primrose, on the coast of Africa.
One evening, while we the deep with gentle breezes plough,
A sail is seen from our mast-head, hard on the weather bow;
The gloom of night now coming on, of her we soon lose sight,
But down she bears, about five bells, as if prepared for fight.
Yet here she overreach’d herself, and prov’d she was mistaken,
Thinking by passing in the dark, that she could save her bacon;
For British tars don’t lose a prize, by fault in looking out,
So we brought her to, with much ado, at eleven o’clock about.
All hands were call’d to quarters, our guns were clear’d away,
And every man within the ship, was anxious for the fray:
Our first lieutenant went on board, her hold to overhaul,
And found them training of their guns, to the boatswain’s pipe and call.
To get near the main hatchway, our officer contrives,
But some ruffian-looking rascals surrounded him with knives;
For well they knew we peace must keep, unless that we could tell
That slaves were actually on board, detecting them by smell.
Striving this object to attain, he firm resistance met,
So then return’d on board in haste, fresh orders for to get;
Says he, “It is a spanking ship, I’m sure that she has slaves,
And bears from sacred house and home, the wretches o’er the waves.”
“Oh! very well!” our captain cries, “for her we will lie by,
And on the morrow’s coming dawn, a palaver we will try;
For should we now attempt to make a pell-mell night attack,
I fear our fight would heavy fall upon the harmless black.”
So early the next morning, we gently edged away,
Our captain hail’d the stranger ship, and unto her did say—
“If you don’t send your boat on board, and act as I desire,
Although you bear the flag of Spain, into your hull I’ll fire.”
The Slaver swore that all our threats should not his courage scare,
And that th’ assault of such a sloop was quite beneath his care:
Our captain calls, “Stand by, my lads! and when I give the word,
We slap off two smart broadsides, and run her right on board.”
The signal then was given, a rattler we let fly,
And many a gloomy Spaniard upon her decks did die:
“Now fire again! my British boys, repeat the precious dose,
For round and grape, when plied so well, they cannot long oppose.”
Now peals the roar of battle strife, now British hearts expand,
And now the anxious sailor pants to combat hand to hand;
With grapnels and with hawsers, we lash’d her to our beam,
Although the muzzles of our guns did o’er our bulwarks gleam.
“Away, my men!” the captain cries, “’tis just the time to board,”
Upon her decks we jump’d amain, with tomahawk and sword;
The conflict now was sharp and fierce, for clemency had fled,
And streams of gore mark’d every blow—the dying and the dead.
Our captain heads the daring band, to make the Velos strike,
But soon received a dangerous thrust, from a well-hove boarding pike.
We thought ’twas all “clue up” with him, although he cheered us on,
And we determined, every man, the Slaver should be won.
We beat them on the main deck, till they could no longer stand,
When our leader sings out “Quarter!” some mercy to command;
But now the sherry which we made, with panic fill’d the horde,
For some dived down the hatchways, and some leap’d overboard.
Close to their scudding heels our lads did their attentions pay,
Cutlass in hand, to hold their own—to capture more than slay;
Through slippery gore we fought our way, the quarter-deck to gain,
And in loud cheers her mizen peak soon lost the flag of Spain.
Our prize we found was frigate-built, from Whydah she sail’d out,
With near six hundred slaves on board, and eight score seamen stout;
Equipp’d with stores of every sort, the missile war to wage,
And twenty long guns through her ports seem’d frowning to engage.
Of those that were made prisoners, they all were put abaft,
And we with well-arm’d sentinels paraded fore and aft;
We pick’d up all the slaughter’d men, and hove them in the deep,
Where, full in number fifty, they take their final sleep.
And twenty more disabled Dons, with eyelet holes and scars,
Were treated by our surgeon the same as our own tars;
For when they struck no time was lost, to the Primrose they were sent,
And arms and legs, and broken heads, strict ordeal underwent.
Our chief was badly wounded, likewise the master too,
One midshipman, the boatswain, and nine of our ship’s crew;
Besides three seamen killed outright, who thus resign’d their breath,
And in the hour of vict’ry gained a patriotic death.
So now my story to conclude, although beyond my might,—
I write these lines to let you know, how loyal tars can fight;
So toast the health of those brave lads that bore the palm away,
And beat the Spanish ship Velos on the coast of Africa.