The men from hence they took away,
Upon that awful sacred day,
Was forty-eight, besides two more
They chanc'd to find upon the shore.
On board the shipping they were sent,
Their money gone, and spirits spent,
And greatly fearing their sad end,
This wicked seizure did portend.
They hoisted sail, the Sound they cross'd,
And near Lloyd's Neck they anchor'd first;
'Twas here the Tories felt 'twas wrong
To bring so many men along.
Then every man must tell his name,
A list they took, and kept the same;
When twenty-four of fifty men
Were order'd to go home again.
The twenty-six who stay'd behind,
Most cruelly they were confin'd;
On board the brig were order'd quick,
And then confin'd beneath the deck.
A dismal hole with filth besmear'd,
But 'twas no more than what we fear'd;
Sad the confinement, dark the night,
But then the devil thought 'twas right.
But to return whence I left off.
They at our misery made a scoff;
Like raving madmen tore about,
Swearing they'd take our vitals out.
They said no quarter they would give
Nor let a cursèd rebel live;
But would their joints in pieces cut,
Then round the deck like turkeys strut.
July, the fourth and twentieth day,
We all marched off to Oyster Bay;
To increase our pains and make it worse,
They iron'd just six pair of us.
But as they wanted just one pair,
An iron stirrup lying there
Was taken and on anvil laid,
On which they with a hammer paid.