At this time arose a certain king Sears,[221]
Who made it his study to banish our fears:
He was, without doubt, a person of merit,
Great knowledge, some wit, and abundance of spirit;
Could talk like a lawyer, and that without fee,
And threatened perdition to all that drank tea.
Long sermons did he against Scotchmen prepare,[222]
And drank like a German, and drove away care;
Ah! don't you remember what a vigorous hand he put
To drag off the great guns, and plague captain Vandeput.[G]
That night[H] when the Hero (his patience worn out)
Put fire to the cannons and folks to the rout,
And drew up his ship with a spring on her cable,
And gave us a second confusion of Babel,
And (what was more solid than scurrilous language)
Poured on us a tempest of round shot and langrage;
Scarce a broadside was ended 'till another began again
—By Jove! it was nothing but Fire away Flanagan![I]
Some thought him saluting his Sally's and Nancy's,[223]
'Till he drove a huge ball through the roof of Sam Francis;[J]
The town by his flashes was fairly enlightened,
The women miscarried, the beaux were all frighten'd;
For my part, I hid in a cellar (as sages
And Christians were wont in the primitive ages:
Thus the Prophet of old that was wrapt to the sky,
Lay snug in a cave 'till the tempest went by,
But, as soon as the comforting spirit had spoke,
He rose and came out with his mystical cloak)
Yet I hardly could boast of a moment of rest,
The dogs were a-howling, the town was distrest!
But our terrors soon vanished, for suddenly Sears
Renewed our lost courage and dried up our tears.
Our memories, indeed, must have strangely decayed
If we cannot remember what speeches he made,
What handsome harangues upon every occasion,
How he laughed at the whim of a British invasion!
"P—x take 'em (said he) do ye think they will come?
"If they should—we have only to beat on our drum,
"And run up the flag of American freedom,
"And people will muster by millions to bleed 'em!
"What freeman need value such blackguards as these!
"Let us sink in our channel some Chevaux de frise
—"And then let 'em come—and we'll show 'em fair play—
"But they are not madmen—I tell you—not they!"
From this very day 'till the British came in,
We lived, I may say, in the Desert of Sin;
Such beating, and bruising, and scratching, and tearing;
Such kicking, and cuffing, and cursing and swearing!
But when they advanced with their numerous fleet,
And Washington made his nocturnal retreat,[K]
(And which they permitted, I say, to their shame,
Or else your New Empire had been but a name)
We townsmen, like women, of Britons in dread,
Mistrusted their meaning, and foolishly fled;
Like the rest of the dunces I mounted my steed,
And galloped away with incredible speed,
To Newark I hastened,—but trouble and care
Got up on the crupper and followed me there!
There I scarcely got fuel to keep myself warm,
And scarcely found spirits to weather the storm;
And was quickly convinced I had little to do,
(The Whigs were in arms, and my readers were few)
So after remaining one cold winter season,
And stuffing my papers with something like treason,
And meeting misfortunes and endless disasters,
And forced to submit to a hundred new masters,
I thought it more prudent to hold to the one—
And (after repenting of what I had done,
And cursing my folly and idle pursuits)
Returned to the city, and hung up my boots.
[G] Captain of the Asia man of war, who cannonaded the city.—Freneau's note.
[H] August, 1775.—Ib.
[I] A cant phrase among privateers men.—Freneau's note.
[J] A noted Inn-holder in New-York.—Ib. "Black Sam."—Ed. 1786.
[K] From Long-Island.—Freneau's note.
As matters have gone, it was plainly a blunder,
But then I expected the Whigs must knock under,
And I always adhere to the sword that is longest,
And stick to the party that's like to be strongest:
That you have succeeded is merely a chance,
I never once dreamt of the conduct of France!—
If alliance with her you were promised—at least
You ought to have showed me your Star in the East,
Nor let me go off uninformed as a beast.
When your army I saw without stockings or shoes,
Or victuals—or money, to pay them their dues,
(Excepting your wretched Congressional paper,
That stunk in my nose like the smoke of a taper,
A cart load of which for a dram might be spent all,
That damnable bubble the old Continental,
That took people in at this wonderful crisis,
With its mottoes and emblems, and cunning devices;
Which, bad as it was, you were forced to admire,
And which was, in fact, the pillar of fire,
To which you directed your wandering noses,
Like the Jews in the desert conducted by Moses)
When I saw them attended with famine and fear,
Distress in their front, and Howe in their rear;
When I saw them for debt incessantly dunned,
Not a shilling to pay them laid up in your fund;
Your ploughs at a stand, and your ships run ashore—
When this was apparent (and need I say more?)
I handled my cane, and I looked at my hat,
And cryed—"God have mercy on armies like that!"
I took up my bottle, disdaining to stay,
And said—"Here's a health to the Vicar of Bray,"
And cocked up my beaver, and—strutted away.
Ashamed of my conduct, I sneaked into town,
(Six hours and a quarter the sun had been down)
It was, I remember, a cold frosty night,
And the stars in the firmament glittered as bright
As if (to assume a poetical stile)
Old Vulcan had give them a rub with his file.
'Till this cursed night, I can honestly say,
I ne'er before dreaded the dawn of the day;
Not a wolf or a fox that is caught in a trap
E'er was so ashamed of his nightly mishap—
I couldn't help thinking what ills might befall me,
What rebels and rascals the British would call me,
And how I might suffer in credit and purse,
If not in my person, which still had been worse:
At length I resolved (as was surely my duty)
To go for advice to parson Auchmuty;[L]
The parson, who now I hope is in glory,
Was then upon earth, and a terrible[224] tory,
Not Cooper[M] himself, of ideas perplext,
So nicely could handle and torture a text,
When bloated with lies, through his trumpet he sounded
The damnable sin of opposing a crowned head;
Like a penitent sinner, and dreading my fate,
In the grey of the morning I knocked at his gate;
(No doubt he was vexed that I roused him so soon,
For his saintship was mostly in blankets 'till noon.)
At length he approached in his vestments of black—
(Alas, my poor heart! it was then on the rack,
Like a man in an ague, or one to be tried;
I shook—and recanted, and blubbered, and sighed)
His gown, of itself, was amazingly big,
Besides, he had on his canonical wig,
And frowned at a distance; but, when I came near,
Looked pleasant and said—"What, Hugh, are you here!
"Your heart, I am certain, is horribly hardened,
"But if you confess—your sin will be pardoned;
"In spite of my preachments, and all I could say,
"Like the prodigal son, you wandered away,
"Now tell me, dear penitent, which is the best,
"To be with the rebels, pursued and distrest,
"Devoid of all comfort, all hopes of relief,
"Or else to be here, and partake the king's beef?
"More people resemble the snake than the dove,
"And more are converted by terror than love:
"Like a sheep on the mountains, or rather a swine,
"You wandered away from the ninety and nine:
"Awhile at the offers of mercy you spurned,
"But your error you saw, and at length have returned:
"Our Master will therefore consider your case,
"And restore you again to favour and grace,
"Great light shall arise from utter confusion,
"And rebels shall live to lament their delusion."
"Ah, rebels! (said I) they are rebels indeed—
"Chastisement, I hope, by the king is decreed:
"They have hung up his subjects with bed-cords and halters,
"And banished his prophets, and thrown down his altars.
"And I—even I—while I ventured to stay,
"They sought for my life—to take it away!
"I therefore propose to come under your wing,
"A foe to rebellion—a slave to the king."