Philadelphia had a poet named Francis Hopkinson, who wrote a poem making fun of the British, called "The Battle of the Kegs." We give a few verses of this humorous poem:
'Twas early day, as poets say,
Just as the sun was rising;
A soldier stood on a log of wood
And saw the sun a-rising.
As in amaze he stood to gaze
(The truth can't be denied, sir),
He spied a score of kegs, or more,
Come floating down the tide, sir.
A sailor, too, in jerkin blue,
The strange appearance viewing,
First "dashed" his eyes in great surprise,
Then said: "Some mischief's brewing.
"These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold,
Packed up like pickled herring;
And they've come down to attack the town
In this new way of ferrying."
* * * * * * * *
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 fish below swam to and fro,
Attacked from every quarter.
"Why sure," thought they, "the devil's to pay
'Mong folks above the water."
From morn to night these men of might
Displayed amazing courage;
And when the sun was fairly down,
Retired to sup their porridge.
Such feats did they perform that day,
Against those wicked kegs, sir,
That years to come, if they get home,
They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.
And so it went on, verse after verse, with not much poetry in it, but a good deal of fun. The British did not enjoy it, for people did not like to be laughed at then any more than now.
CHAPTER VII
CAPTAIN BARRY AND HIS ROWBOATS WIN A VICTORY OVER THE BRITISH
A Gallant Naval Hero of Irish Blood
THE heroes of our navy were not all Americans born. More than one of them came from British soil, but a footprint on the green fields of America soon turned them into true-blue Yankees. There was John Paul Jones, the gallant Scotchman. And there was John Barry, a bold son of green Erin.
I have told you the story of Jones, the Scotchman, and now I must tell you that of Barry, the Irishman.