Then muskets did rattle,
Fierce ragèd the battle,
Grape shot it flew thicker than hail, sir.
The ditch fill'd with slain,
Blood dyed all the plain,
When rebels and French turnèd tail, sir.
See! see! how they run!
Lord! what glorious fun!
How they tumble, by cannon mowed down, sir!
Brains fly all around,
Dying screeches resound,
And mangled limbs cover the ground, sir.
There Pulaski fell,
That imp of old Bell,
[Who attempted to murder his king], sir.
But now he is gone
Whence he'll never return;
But will make hell with treason to ring, sir.
To Charleston with fear
The rebels repair;
D'Estaing scampers back to his boats, sir,
Each blaming the other,
Each cursing his brother,
And—may they cut each other's throats, sir.
Scarce three thousand men
The town did maintain,
'Gainst three times their number of foes, sir,
Who left on the plain,
Of wounded and slain,
Three thousand to fatten the crows, sir.
Three thousand! no less!
For the rebels confess
Some loss, as you very well know, sir.
Then let bumpers go round,
And reëcho the sound,
Huzza for the King and Prevost, sir.
As soon as Clinton learned of this victory, he determined to capture Charleston, where General Lincoln was stationed with three thousand men. Lincoln decided to withstand a siege, hoping for reinforcements; but none came, and on May 12, 1780, to avoid a wanton waste of life, he surrendered his army and the city to the British.
A SONG ABOUT CHARLESTON
[May 12, 1780]
King Hancock sat in regal state,
And big with pride and vainly great,
Address'd his rebel crew:
"These haughty Britons soon shall yield
The boasted honors of the field,
While our brave sons pursue.