Relative to the Disposal of Lord Wellington's Army

Said the goth to the vandal, the prince to the king, Let us do a mad action, to make the world ring: With Wellington's army we now have the means To make a bold stroke and exhibit new scenes.

A stroke at the states is my ardent desire, To waste, and hara.s.s them with famine and fire; My vengeance to carry through village and town, And even to batter their capitol down.

The vandal then answer'd, and said to the goth, Dear George, with yourself I am equally wroth: Of Wellington's army dispose as you please, It is best, I presume, they should go beyond seas; For, should they come home, I can easily show The hangman will have too much duty to do.

So, away came the bruisers, and when they came here Some mischief they did, where no army was near: They came to correct, and they came to chastise And to do all the evil their heads could devise.

At Washington city, they burnt and destroy'd Till among the big houses they made a huge void; Then back to their shipping they flew like the wind, But left many more than five hundred behind Of wounded and dead, and others say, double; And thus was the hangman excused from some trouble.

Alexandria beheld them in battle array; Alexandria they plunder'd a night and a day.

Then quickly retreated, with moderate loss, Their forces conducted by c.o.c.kburn and Ross.

At Baltimore, next, was their place of attack; But Baltimore drove them repeatedly back; There Rodgers they saw, and their terror was such, They saw they were d.a.m.n'd when they saw him approach.

The forts were a.s.sail'd by the strength of their fleet, And the forts, in disorder beheld them retreat So shatter'd and crippled, so mangled and sore, That the tide of Patapsco was red with their gore.

Their legions by land no better succeeded-- In vain they manoeuvered, in vain they paraded, Their hundreds on hundreds were strew'd on the ground, Each shot from the rifles brought death or a wound.

One shot from a buckskin completed their loss, And their legions no longer were headed by Ross!

Where they mean to go next, we can hardly devise, But home they would go if their master was wise.

Yet folly so long has directed their course; Such madness is seen in the waste of their force, Such weakness and folly, with malice combined, Such rancor, revenge, and derangement of mind, That, all things consider'd, with truth we may say, Both Cochrane and c.o.c.kburn are running away.[A]

[A] About this time, September, 1814, the admirals Cochrane and c.o.c.kburn quitted the coast of the United States in their respective flag ships.--_Freneau's note._

To their regent, the prince, to their master the king They are now on the way, they are now on the wing, To tell them the story of loss and disaster, One begging a pension, the other a plaister.

Let them speed as they may, to us it is plain They will patch up their hulks for another campaign, Their valor to prove, and their havoc to spread When Wellington's army is missing or dead.

ON THE LOSS OF THE PRIVATEER BRIGANTINE

GENERAL ARMSTRONG

Captain Samuel C. Reid, of New-York, which sailed from Sandy Hook, on a cruise, the ninth of September, 1814, and on the 26th came to anchor in the road of Fayal, one of the Azores, or Western Islands, a neutral port belonging to the crown of Portugal. She anch.o.r.ed in that port for the purpose of procuring a supply of fresh water, when she was attacked by the british ship of war Plantaganet, of 74 guns, capt. Lloyd; the Rota frigate of 36 guns, and the armed national brig Carnation, of 18 guns, and many barges of considerable force, all of which she repulsed, with an immense slaughter, and was then scuttled and sunk by order of Captain Reid, to prevent her falling into the hands of the enemy.

The Armstrong arrived in the port of Fayal, And her actions of valor we mean to recall; Brave Reid, her commander, his valorous crew, The heroes that aided, his officers, too.

Shall it fall to their lot To be basely forgot?

O no! while a bard has a pen to command Their fame shall resound through american land.

In the road of Fayal, when their anchors were cast, The british were watching to give them a blast; Not far from the port, for destruction sharp set, Lay the Rota, Carnation, and Plantagenet: With a ship of the line Did a frigate combine, And a brig of great force, with her boats in the rear, To capture or burn one New-York privateer!

Four boats from the brig were despatch'd in great haste, And onward they came, of the Armstrong to taste; To taste of her powder, to taste of her ball, To taste of the death she must hurl on them all!-- They came in great speed, And with courage, indeed, Well mann'd and well arm'd--so they got along side, Destruction their motto, d.a.m.nation their guide.

Now the Armstrong, with vengeance, had open'd her fire, And gave them as much as they well could desire; A score of them fell--full twenty fell dead-- Then quarters! they cried, and disgracefully fled:-- To their ships they return'd Half shatter'd and burn'd-- Not quite in good humor, perhaps in a fret, And waited new orders from Plantagenet.

Then the Armstrong haul'd in, close abreast of the beach, So near, that a pistol the castle could reach; And there she awaited the rest of their plan, And there they determined to die, to a man, Ere the lords of the waves With their sorrowful slaves, The tyrants, who claim the command of the main, With strength, though superior, their purpose should gain.

And now the full moon had ascended the sky, Reid saw by her light that the british were nigh: The bell of Fayal told the hour--it was nine-- When the foe was observed to advance in a line; They manoeuvred a while With their brig, in great style, Till midnight approach'd when they made their attack, Twelve boats, full of men, and the brig at their back!

They advanced to the conflict as near as they chose, When the Armstrong her cannon discharged on her foes-- The town of Fayal stood aghast in amaze The Armstrong appear'd like all h.e.l.l in a blaze!

At the blast of Long Tom The foe was struck dumb: O lord! are the sons of old England alarm'd-- With music like this they were formerly charm'd!

Huzza for old England! three cheers, and a d.a.m.n!

And up to the conflict they manfully came; On the bows and the quarters they grappled a hold, And board! was the word in those barges so bold; But board they could not--to no devil she strikes, So the Armstrong repell'd them with pistols and pikes-- From her musquetry fire They by dozens expire!

And soon was the work of destruction complete, And soon was determined their total defeat--!

Three hundred brave fellows were wounded and kill'd, Their boats and their barges with slaughter were fill'd; With shame they retreated, the few that remain'd, To tell the event of the battle--not gain'd: Their commander in chief Was astounded with grief!-- Dont grieve, my good fellows--he hail'd them--I beg I too have my wounds--"an ox trod on my leg!"

But to save the stout Armstrong--even Reid could not do-- A ship of the line with a frigate in tow--!

A brig of their navy accoutred for war--!

All this was too much for e'en yankees to dare: So he scuttled his barque-- Nor need we remark That she sunk on the sands by the beach of Fayal With her colors all flying--no colors could fall!

Of neutrals what nonsense some tell us each day!

Exists there a neutral where Britain has sway?

The rights of a neutral!--away with such stuff-- What neutral remains that can England rebuff?-- To be safe from disgrace The deep seas are our place: The flag of no neutral our flag can defend, By ourselves we must fight, on ourselves must depend.

Now in b.u.mpers of reason, success to brave Reid!

Himself and his heroes are heroes indeed!-- In conquests, like this, can an englishman glory, One traitor among us, one Halifax tory?

If they can--let them brag-- Here's success to our flag!

May it ever be ready, the britons to maul, As the Armstrong behaved in the road of Fayal.--

ON THE BRIGANTINE PRIVATEER

Prince de Neufchatel[210]

Ordonneaux, commander, which arrived at Boston some time since, from a cruise of three months, chiefly in the english and irish channels, in which she captured thirteen or fourteen valuable prizes, to the amount, it was said, of more than a million of dollars.

Quid petis hic est.--_Martial._

What is wealth, that men will roam, Risque their all, and leave their home, Face the cannon, beat the drum, And their lives so cheaply sell!

Let them reason on the fact Who would rather think than act-- Their brains were not with morals rack'd Who mann'd the prince of Neufchatel.

Having play'd a lucky game, Homeward, with her treasure, came This privateer of gallant fame, Call'd the prince of Neufchatel.

Are the english cruisers near?

Do they on the coast appear To molest this privateer?-- --She shall be defended well.

Soon a frigate hove in sight:-- As the wind was rather light, She, five barges, out of spite, Sent, to attack, with gun and blade.