Although the muzzles of our guns did o’er our bulwarks gleam.
“Away, my men!” the captain cries, “’tis just the time to board,”
Upon her decks we jump’d amain, with tomahawk and sword;
The conflict now was sharp and fierce, for clemency had fled,
And streams of gore mark’d every blow—the dying and the dead.
Our captain heads the daring band, to make the Velos strike,
But soon received a dangerous thrust, from a well-hove boarding pike.
We thought ’twas all “clue up” with him, although he cheered us on,
And we determined, every man, the Slaver should be won.
We beat them on the main deck, till they could no longer stand,