'Arise! arise!' Sir Erskine cries:
'The rebels—more's the pity—
Without a boat, are all afloat,
And ranged before the city.
'The motley crew, in vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, sir,
Pack'd up in bags, or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.
'Therefore prepare for bloody war!
These kegs must all be routed;
Or surely we despised shall be,
And British courage doubted.'
The royal band now ready stand,
All ranged in dread array, sirs;
With stomach stout, to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sirs.
The cannons roar from shore to shore,
The small arms make a rattle;
Since wars began, I'm sure no man
E'er saw so strange a battle.
The rebel vales, the rebel dales,
With rebel trees surrounded,
The distant woods, the hills and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded.
The fish below swam to and fro,
Attack'd from every quarter:
Why, sure, thought they, the devil's to pay
'Mongst folks above the water.
The kegs, 'tis said, though strongly made,
Of rebel staves and hoops, sirs,
Could not oppose their powerful foes,
The conquering British troops, sirs.
From morn to night, these men of might
Display'd amazing courage;
And when the sun was fairly down,
Retired to sup their porridge.
A hundred men, with each a pen,
Or more—upon my word, sirs,
It is most true—would be too few
Their valor to record, sirs.
Such feats did they perform that day
Upon these wicked kegs, sirs,
That years to come, if they get home,
They'll make their boasts and brags, sirs."