Chapter II: The Second War with England (2)

Successful Broke to you,
And your officers and crew,
Who on board the Shannon frigate
Fought so handy O!
And may it ever prove
That in fighting as in love
The true British tar is the dandy O!

James Lawrence, commander of the Chesapeake, had been fatally
wounded early in the action. Until the last, he kept crying
from the cockpit, "Keep the guns going! Fight her till she
strikes or sinks!" His last words were the famous, "Don't give
up the ship!"

DEFEAT AND VICTORY

[June 1, 1813]

Through the clangor of the cannon,
Through the combat's wreck and reek,
Answer to th' o'ermastering Shannon
Thunders from the Chesapeake:
Gallant Lawrence, wounded, dying,
Speaks with still unconquered lip
Ere the bitter draught he drinks:
_Keep the Flag flying!
Fight her till she strikes or sinks!
Don't give up the ship!_

Still that voice is sounding o'er us,
So bold Perry heard it call;
Farragut has joined its chorus;
Porter, Dewey, Wainwright--all
Heard the voice of duty crying;
Deathless word from dauntless lip
That our past and future links:
_Keep the Flag flying!
Fight her till she strikes or sinks!
Don't give up the ship!_

WALLACE RICE.

Another action which resulted very differently was that between
the American 16-gun schooner, Enterprise, and the British
14-gun brig, Boxer. The ships came together off Monhegan on
September 5, 1813, and after a fierce fight lasting an hour,
the Englishman surrendered.

ENTERPRISE AND BOXER

[September 5, 1813]

Again Columbia's stripes, unfurl'd,
Have testified before the world,
How brave are those who wear 'em;
The foe has now been taught again
His streamers cannot shade the main
While Yankees live to share 'em.
Huzza! once more for Yankee skill!
The brave are very generous still
But teach the foes submission:
Now twice three times his flag we've gain'd,
And more, much more can be obtain'd
Upon the same condition.

The gallant Enterprise her name,
A vessel erst of little fame,
Had sail'd and caught the foe, sirs;
'Twas hers the glory and the gain,
To meet the Boxer on the main,
And bring her home in tow, sirs.
Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.

Fierce lightnings gleam and thunders roar,
While round and grape in torrents pour,
And echo through the skies, sirs;
When minutes forty-five had flown,
Behold the Briton's colors down!--
She's yielded up a prize, sirs.
Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.

The victory gain'd, we count the cost,
We mourn, indeed, a hero lost!
Who nobly fell, we know, sirs;
But Burrows, we with Lawrence find,
Has left a living name behind,
Much honor'd by the foe, sirs.
Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.

And while we notice deeds of fame,
In which the gallant honors claim;
As heroes of our story,
The name of Blyth a meed demands,
Whose tomb is deck'd by freemen's hands,
Who well deserve the glory.
Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.

Then, while we fill the sparkling glass,
And cause it cheerly round to pass,
In social hours assembled;
Be Hull, Decatur, Bainbridge, Jones,
Lawrence and Burrows--Victory's sons,
With gratitude remember'd.
Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.

This little victory was soon overshadowed by a far more
brilliant and important one on Lake Erie, where, on September
10, 1813, Oliver Hazard Perry, in command of a hastily
constructed fleet of nine ships, defeated and captured a
British squadron of superior strength.

PERRY'S VICTORY

[September 10, 1813]

We sailed to and fro in Erie's broad lake,
To find British bullies or get into their wake,
When we hoisted our canvas with true Yankee speed,
And the brave Captain Perry our squadron did lead.

We sailed through the lake, boys, in search of the foe,
In the cause of Columbia our brav'ry to show,
To be equal in combat was all our delight,
As we wished the proud Britons to know we could fight.

And whether like Yeo, boys, they'd taken affright,
We could see not, nor find them by day or by night;
So cruising we went in a glorious cause,
In defence of our rights, our freedom, and laws.

At length to our liking, six sails hove in view,
Huzzah! says brave Perry, huzzah! says his crew,
And then for the chase, boys, with our brave little crew,
We fell in with the bullies and gave them "burgoo."

Though the force was unequal, determined to fight,
We brought them to action before it was night;
We let loose our thunder, our bullets did fly,
"Now give them your shot, boys," our commander did cry.

We gave them a broadside, our cannon to try,
"Well done," says brave Perry, "for quarter they'll cry,
Shot well home, my brave boys, they shortly shall see,
That quite brave as they are, still braver are we."

Then we drew up our squadron, each man full of fight,
And put the proud Britons in a terrible plight,
The brave Perry's movements will prove fully as bold,
As the fam'd Admiral Nelson's prowess of old.

The conflict was sharp, boys, each man to his gun,
For our country, her glory, the vict'ry was won,
So six sail (the whole fleet) was our fortune to take,
Here's a health to brave Perry, who governs the Lake.

THE BATTLE OF ERIE

[September 10, 1813]

Avast, honest Jack! now, before you get mellow,
Come tip us that stave just, my hearty old fellow,
'Bout the young commodore, and his fresh-water crew,
Who keelhaul'd the Britons, and captured a few.

"'Twas just at sunrise, and a glorious day,
Our squadron at anchor snug in Put-in-Bay,
When we saw the bold Britons, and cleared for a bout,
Instead of put in, by the Lord we put out.

"Up went union-jack, never up there before,
'Don't give up the ship' was the motto it bore;
And as soon as that motto our gallant lads saw,
They thought of their Lawrence, and shouted huzza!

"Oh! then it would have raised your hat three inches higher,
To see how we dash'd in among them like fire!
The Lawrence went first, and the rest as they could,
And a long time the brunt of the action she stood.

"'Twas peppering work,--fire, fury, and smoke,
And groans that from wounded lads, spite of 'em, broke.
The water grew red round our ship as she lay,
Though 'twas never before so till that bloody day.

"They fell all around me like spars in a gale;
The shot made a sieve of each rag of a sail;
And out of our crew scarce a dozen remain'd;
But these gallant tars still the battle maintain'd.

"'Twas then our commander--God bless his young heart--
Thought it best from his well-peppered ship to depart,
And bring up the rest who were tugging behind--
For why--they were sadly in want of a wind.

"So to Yarnall he gave the command of his ship,
And set out, like a lark, on this desperate trip,
In a small open yawl, right through their whole fleet,
Who with many a broadside our cockboat did greet.

"I steer'd her and damme if every inch
Of these timbers of mine at each crack didn't flinch:
But our tight little commodore, cool and serene,
To stir ne'er a muscle by any was seen.

"Whole volleys of muskets were levell'd at him,
But the devil a one ever grazed e'en a limb,
Though he stood up aloft in the stern of the boat,
Till the crew pull'd him down by the skirt of his coat.

"At last, through Heaven's mercy, we reached t'other ship,
And the wind springing up, we gave her the whip,
And run down their line, boys, through thick and through thin,
And bother'd their crews with a horrible din.

"Then starboard and larboard, and this way and that,
We bang'd them and raked them, and laid their masts flat,
Till, one after t'other, they haul'd down their flag,
And an end, for that time, put to Johnny Bull's brag.

"The Detroit, and Queen Charlotte, and Lady Prevost,
Not able to fight or run, gave up the ghost:
And not one of them all from our grapplings got free,
Though we'd fifty-four guns, and they just sixty-three.

"Smite my limbs! but they all got their bellies full then,
And found what it was, boys, to buckle with men,
Who fight, or, what's just the same, think that they fight
For their country's free trade and their own native right.

"Now give us a bumper to Elliott and those
Who came up, in good time, to belabor our foes:
To our fresh-water sailors we'll toss off one more,
And a dozen, at least, to our young commodore.

"And though Britons may brag of their ruling the ocean,
And that sort of thing, by the Lord, I've a notion,
I'll bet all I'm worth--who takes it--who takes?
Though they're lords of the sea, we'll be lords of the lakes."

Immediately on receiving the surrender, Perry wrote with a
pencil on the back of an old letter, using his cap for a
desk, his famous message, "We have met the enemy and they are
ours--two ships, two brigs, one schooner, and one sloop," and
dispatched it to General Harrison.

PERRY'S VICTORY--A SONG

[September 10, 1813]

Columbia, appear!--To thy mountains ascend,
And pour thy bold hymn to the winds and the woods;
Columbia, appear!--O'er thy tempest-harp bend,
And far to the nations its trumpet-song send,--
Let thy cliff-echoes wake, with their sun-nourish'd broods,
And chant to the desert--the skies--and the floods,
And bid them remember,
The Tenth of September,
When our Eagle came down from her home in the sky--
And the souls of our heroes were marshall'd on high.

Columbia, ascend!--Let thy warriors behold
Their flag like a firmament bend o'er thy head.
The wide rainbow-flag with its star-clustered fold!
Let the knell of dark Battle beneath it be tolled,
While the anthem of Peace shall be pealed for the dead,
And the rude waters heave, on whose bosom they bled:
Oh, they will remember,
The Tenth of September,
When their souls were let loose in a tempest of flame,
And wide Erie shook at the trumpet of Fame.

Columbia, appear!--Let thy cloud minstrels wake,
As they march on the storm, all the grandeur of song,
Till the far mountain reel--and the billowless lake
Shall be mantled in froth, and its Monarch shall quake
On his green oozy throne, as their harping comes strong,
With the chime of the winds as they're bursting along.
For he will remember,
The Tenth of September,
When he saw his dominions all covered with foam,
And heard the loud war in its echoless home.

Columbia, appear!--Be thine olive displayed,
O cheer with thy smile, all the land and the tide!
Be the anthem we hear not the song that was made,
When the victims of slaughter stood forth, all arrayed
In blood-dripping garments--and shouted--and died.
Let the hymning of peace o'er the blue heavens ride;
O let us remember,
The Tenth of September,
When the dark waves of Erie were brightened to-day,
And the flames of the Battle were quenched in the spray.

Harrison, at the head of his army, started in hot pursuit of
the British and Indians, who had been compelled to evacuate
Detroit, and on October 5 overtook them on the bank of the
Thames, and routed them with great loss, the Indian chief
Tecumseh being among the slain.

THE FALL OF TECUMSEH

[October 5, 1813]

What heavy-hoofed coursers the wilderness roam,
To the war-blast indignantly tramping?
Their mouths are all white, as if frosted with foam,
The steel bit impatiently champing.

'Tis the hand of the mighty that grasps the rein,
Conducting the free and the fearless.
Ah! see them rush forward, with wild disdain,
Through paths unfrequented and cheerless.

From the mountains had echoed the charge of death,
Announcing that chivalrous sally;
The savage was heard, with untrembling breath,
To pour his response from the valley.

One moment, and nought but the bugle was heard,
And nought but the war-whoop given;
The next, and the sky seemed convulsively stirred,
As if by the lightning riven.

The din of the steed, and the sabred stroke,
The blood-stifled gasp of the dying,
Were screened by the curling sulphur-smoke,
That upward went wildly flying.

In the mist that hung over the field of blood,
The chief of the horsemen contended;
His rowels were bathed in purple flood,
That fast from his charger descended.

That steed reeled, and fell, in the van of the fight,
But the rider repressed not his daring,
Till met by a savage, whose rank and might
Were shown by the plume he was wearing.

The moment was fearful; a mightier foe
Had ne'er swung the battle-axe o'er him;
But hope nerved his arm for a desperate blow,
And Tecumseh fell prostrate before him.

O ne'er may the nations again be cursed
With conflict so dark and appalling!--
Foe grappled with foe, till the life-blood burst
From their agonized bosoms in falling.

Gloom, silence, and solitude rest on the spot
Where the hopes of the red man perished;
But the fame of the hero who fell shall not,
By the virtuous, cease to be cherished.

He fought, in defence of his kindred and king,
With a spirit most loving and loyal.
And long shall the Indian warrior sing
The deeds of Tecumseh the royal.

The lightning of intellect flashed from his eye,
In his arm slept the force of the thunder,
But the bolt passed the suppliant harmlessly by,
And left the freed captive to wonder.

Above, near the path of the pilgrim, he sleeps,
With a rudely built tumulus o'er him;
And the bright-bosomed Thames, in his majesty, sweeps,
By the mound where his followers bore him.

The British took care to maintain as strictly as possible the
blockade of the American coast, and the coast towns were kept
in a constant state of terror lest they be bombarded and burned.

THE LEGEND OF WALBACH TOWER

SCENE.--_Fort Constitution on the Island of Newcastle, off
Portsmouth, N. H., Colonel Walbach, commanding. Period, the
fall of 1813._

More ill at ease was never man than Walbach, that Lord's day,
When, spent with speed, a trawler cried, "A war-ship heads this way!"

His pipe, half filled, to shatters flew; he climbed the ridge of knolls;
And, turning spy-glass toward the east, swept the long reach of Shoals.

An hour he watched: behind his back the Portsmouth spires waxed red;
Its harbor like a field of war, a brazen shield o'erhead.

Another hour: the sundown gun the Sabbath stillness brake;
When loud a second voice hallooed, "Two war-ships hither make!"

Again the colonel scanned the east, where soon white gleams arose:
Behind Star Isle they first appeared, then flashed o'er Smuttynose.

Fleet-wing'd they left Duck Isle astern; when, rounding full in view,
Lo! in the face of Appledore three Britishers hove to.

"To arms, O townsfolk!" Walbach cried, "Behold these black hawk three!
Whether they pluck old Portsmouth town rests now with you and me.

"The guns of Kittery, and mine, may keep the channel clear,
If but one pintle-stone be raised to ward me in the rear.

"But scarce a score my muster-roll; the earthworks lie unmanned
(Whereof some mouthing spy, no doubt, has made them understand);

"And if, ere dawn, their long-boat keels once kiss the nether sands,
My every port-hole's mouth is stopped, and we be in their hands!"

Then straightway from his place upspake the parson of the town:
"Let us beseech Heaven's blessing first!"--and all the folk knelt down.

"O God, our hands are few and faint; our hope rests all with thee:
Lend us thy hand in this sore strait,--and thine the glory be!"

"Amen! Amen!" the chorus rose; "Amen!" the pines replied;
And through the churchyard's rustling grass an "Amen" softly sighed.

Astir the village was awhile, with hoof and iron clang;
Then all grew still, save where, aloft, a hundred trowels rang.

None supped, they say, that Lord's-day eve; none slept, they say, that
night;
But all night long, with tireless arms, each toiled as best he might.

Four flax-haired boys of Amazeen the flickering torches stay,
Peopling with titan shadow-groups the canopy of gray;

Grandsires, with frost above their brows, the steaming mortar mix;
Dame Tarlton's apron, crisp at dawn, helps hod the yellow bricks;

While pilot, cooper, mackerelman, parson and squire as well,
Make haste to plant the pintle-gun, and raise its citadel.

And one who wrought still tells the tale, that as his task he plied,
An unseen fellow-form he felt that labored at his side;

And still to wondering ears relates, that as each brick was squared,
Lo! unseen trowels clinked response, and a new course prepared.

O night of nights! The blinking dawn beheld the marvel done,
And from the new martello boomed the echoing morning gun.

One stormy cloud its lip upblew; and as its thunder rolled,
Old England saw, above the smoke, New England's flag unfold.

Then, slowly tacking to and fro, more near the cruisers made,
To see what force unheralded had flown to Walbach's aid.

"God be our stay," the parson cried, "who hearkened Israel's wail!"
And as he spake,--all in a line, seaward the ships set sail.

GEORGE HOUGHTON.

In order to draw British ships from this blockade, the
government adopted the policy of sending light squadrons into
distant seas, and in October, 1812, the 32-gun frigate Essex,
Captain David Porter, sailed to join the Constitution and
Hornet for a cruise in the Indian Ocean. Porter failed to find
the other ships and decided to double Cape Horn and cruise in
the Pacific. He captured a number of prizes, and completely
destroyed British commerce in the south Pacific. A strong force
of British cruisers was sent out to intercept him, and finally,
on March 28, 1814, he was caught in a disabled condition at
Valparaiso by two British ships, and attacked, notwithstanding
the neutrality of the port. After a desperate fight, he was
forced to surrender.

THE BATTLE OF VALPARAISO

Proeliis audax, neque te silebo.--HOR.

[March 28, 1814]

From the laurel's fairest bough,
Let the muse her garland twine,
To adorn our Porter's brow,
Who, beyond the burning line,
Led his caravan of tars o'er the tide.
To the pilgrims fill the bowl,
Who, around the southern pole,
Saw new constellations roll,
For their guide.

"Heave the topmast from the board,
And our ship for action clear,
By the cannon and the sword,
We will die or conquer here.
The foe, of twice our force, nears us fast:
To your posts, my faithful tars!
Mind your rigging, guns, and spars,
And defend your stripes and stars
To the last."

At the captain's bold command,
Flew each sailor to his gun,
And resolved he there would stand,
Though the odds was two to one,
To defend his flag and ship with his life:
High on every mast display'd,
"God, Our Country, and Free Trade,"
E'en the bravest braver made
For the strife.

Fierce the storm of battle pours:
But unmoved as ocean's rock,
When the tempest round it roars,
Every seaman breasts the shock,
Boldly stepping where his brave messmates fall.
O'er his head, full oft and loud,
Like the vulture in a cloud,
As it cuts the twanging shroud,
Screams the ball.

Before the siroc blast
From its iron caverns driven,
Drops the sear'd and shiver'd mast,
By the bolt of battle riven,
And higher heaps the ruin of the deck--
As the sailor, bleeding, dies,
To his comrades lifts his eyes,
"Let our flag still wave," he cries,
O'er the wreck.

In echo to the sponge,
Hark! along the silent lee,
Oft is heard the solemn plunge,
In the bosom of the sea.
'Tis not the sullen plunge of the dead,
But the self-devoted tar,
Who, to grace the victor's car,
Scorns from home and friends afar
To be led.

Long live the gallant crew
Who survived that day of blood:
And may fortune soon renew
_Equal_ battle on the flood.
Long live the glorious names of the brave
O'er these martyrs of the deep,
Oft the roving tar shall weep,
Crying, "Sweetly may they sleep
'Neath the wave."

With the opening of the spring of 1814, the campaign along the
Canadian border was begun with unusual activity. The army there
was under Major-General Jacob Brown, and on July 25 met the
British in the fiercely contested battle of Lundy's Lane, or
Bridgewater.

THE BATTLE OF BRIDGEWATER

[July 25, 1814]

O'er Huron's wave the sun was low,
The weary soldier watch'd the bow
Fast fading from the cloud below
The dashing of Niagara.
And while the phantom chain'd his sight,
Ah! little thought he of the fight--
The horrors of the dreamless night,
That posted on so rapidly.

Soon, soon is fled each softer charm;
The drum and trumpet sound alarm,
And bid each warrior nerve his arm
For boldest deeds of chivalry;
The burning red-cross, waving high,
Like meteor in the evening sky,
Proclaims the haughty foemen nigh
To try the strife of rivalry.

Columbia's banner floats as proud,
Her gallant band around it crowd,
And swear to guard or make their shroud
The starred flag of liberty.
"Haste, haste thee, Scott, to meet the foe,
And let the scornful Briton know,
Well strung the arm and firm the blow
Of him who strikes for liberty."

Loud, loud, the din of battle rings,
Shrill through the ranks the bullet sings,
And onward fierce each foeman springs
To meet his peer in gallantry.
Behind the hills descends the sun,
The work of death is but begun,
And red through twilight's shadows dun
Blazes the vollied musketry.

"Charge, Miller, charge the foe once more,"
And louder than Niagara's roar
Along the line is heard, encore,
"On, on to death or victory."
From line to line, with lurid glow,
High arching shoots the rocket's bow,
And lights the mingled scene below
Of carnage, death, and misery.

The middle watch has now begun,
The horrid battle-fray is done,
No longer beats the furious drum,
To death, to death or victory.
All, all is still--with silent tread
The watchman steals among the dead,
To guard his comrade's lowly bed,
Till morning give him sepulture.

Low in the west, of splendor shorn,
The midnight moon with bloody horn
Sheds her last beam on him, forlorn,
Who fell in fight so gloriously;
Oh! long her crescent wax and wane
Ere she behold such fray again,
Such dismal night, such heaps of slain,
Foe mix'd with foe promiscuously.

Colonel Winfield Scott commanded a battalion at this battle,
and by a series of desperate charges drove the British from
the field. But so shaken was the American army that it was
compelled to retreat to camp, after spending the night upon the
conquered ground.

THE HERO OF BRIDGEWATER

[July 25, 1814]

Seize, O seize the sounding lyre,
With its quivering string!
Strike the chords, in ecstasy,
Whilst loud the valleys ring!
Sing the chief, who, gloriously,
From England's veteran band,
Pluck'd the wreaths of victory,
To grace his native land!

Where Bridgewater's war-famed stream
Saw the foemen reel,
Thrice repulsed, with burnish'd gleam
Of bayonet, knife, and steel;
And its crimson'd waters run
Red with gurgling flow,
As Albion's gathering hosts his arm,
His mighty arm, laid low.

Strike the sounding string of fame,
O lyre! Beat loud, ye drums!
Ye clarion blasts, exalt his name!
Behold the hero comes!
I see Columbia, joyously,
Her palmy circlet throw
Around his high victorious brow
Who laid her foemen low!

Take him, Fame! for thine he is!
On silvery columns, rear
The name of Scott, whence envious Time
Shall ne'er its honors tear!
And thou, O Albion, quake with dread!
Ye veterans shrink, the while,
Whene'er his glorious name shall sound
To shake your sea-girt isle!

CHARLES L. S. JONES.

The British, meanwhile, had extended their blockade to the
whole coast of the United States, and were ordered to "destroy
and lay waste all towns and districts of the United States
found accessive to the attack of the British armaments." In
pursuance of these orders, town after town along the coast was
bombarded and burned. On August 9, 1814, a squadron descended
on the little village of Stonington, but met a warm reception.

THE BATTLE OF STONINGTON ON THE SEABOARD OF CONNECTICUT

[August 9-12, 1814]

Four gallant ships from England came
Freighted deep with fire and flame,
And other things we need not name,
To have a dash at Stonington.

Now safely moor'd, their work begun;
They thought to make the Yankees run,
And have a mighty deal of fun
In stealing sheep at Stonington.

A deacon then popp'd up his head,
And parson Jones's sermon read,
In which the reverend doctor said
That they must fight for Stonington.

A townsman bade them, next, attend
To sundry resolutions penn'd,
By which they promised to defend
With sword and gun old Stonington.

The ships advancing different ways,
The Britons soon began to blaze,
And put th' old women in amaze,
Who fear'd the loss of Stonington.

The Yankees to their fort repair'd,
And made as though they little cared
For all that came--though very hard
The cannon play'd on Stonington.

The Ramillies began the attack,
Despatch came forward--bold and black--
And none can tell what kept them back
From setting fire to Stonington.

The bombardiers with bomb and ball,
Soon made a farmer's barrack fall,
And did a cow-house sadly maul
That stood a mile from Stonington.

They kill'd a goose, they kill'd a hen,
Three hogs they wounded in a pen--
They dash'd away, and pray what then?
This was not taking Stonington.

The shells were thrown, the rockets flew,
But not a shell, of all they threw,
Though every house was full in view,
Could burn a house at Stonington.

To have their turn they thought but fair;--
The Yankees brought two guns to bear,
And, sir, it would have made you stare,
This smoke of smokes at Stonington.

They bored Pactolus through and through,
And kill'd and wounded of her crew
So many, that she bade adieu
T' the gallant boys of Stonington.

The brig Despatch was hull'd and torn--
So crippled, riddled, so forlorn,
No more she cast an eye of scorn
On the little fort at Stonington.

The Ramillies gave up th' affray,
And, with her comrades, sneak'd away,
Such was the valor, on that day,
Of British tars near Stonington.

But some assert, on certain grounds
(Besides the damage and the wounds),
It cost the king ten thousand pounds
To have a dash at Stonington.

PHILIP FRENEAU.

Occasionally, an American ship would manage to deal a telling
blow. The Wasp, cruising in the English Channel, did especially
effective work, among her most famous actions being that with
the Avon on the night of September 1, 1814, in which, after a
spirited fight, the Avon was sunk.

THE OCEAN-FIGHT

[September 1, 1814]

The sun had sunk beneath the west,
When two proud barks to battle press'd,
With swelling sail and streamers dress'd,
So gallantly.

Proud Britain's pennon flouts the skies:
Columbia's flag more proudly flies,
Her emblem stars of victories
Beam gloriously.

Sol's lingering rays, through vapors shed,
Have streak'd the sky of bloody red,
And now the ensanguined lustre spread
Heaven's canopy.

Dread prelude to that awful night
When Britain's and Columbia's might
Join'd in the fierce and bloody fight,
Hard rivalry.

Now, lowering o'er the stormy deep,
Dank, sable clouds more threatening sweep:
Yet still the barks their courses keep
Unerringly.

The northern gales more fiercely blow,
The white foam dashing o'er the prow;
The starry crescent round each bow
Beams vividly.

Near and more near the war-ships ride,
Till, ranged for battle, side by side,
Each warrior's heart beats high with pride
Of chivalry.

'Twas awful, ere the fight begun,
To see brave warriors round each gun,
While thoughts on home and carnage run,
Stand silently.

As death-like stillness reigns around,
Nature seems wrapp'd in peace profound,
Ere fires, volcanic, mountain bound,
Burst furiously.

So, bursting from Columbia's prow,
Her thunder on the red-cross foe,
The lurid cloud's sulphuric glow
Glares awfully.

Reëchoing peals more fiercely roar,
Britannia's shatter'd sides run gore,
The foaming waves that raged before,
Sink, tremulous.

Columbia's last sulphuric blaze,
That lights her stripes and starry rays,
The vanquish'd red-cross flag betrays,
Struck fearfully.

And, hark! their piercing shrieks of wo!
Haste, haste and save the sinking foe:
Haste, e'er their wreck to bottom go,
Brave conquerors.

Now, honor to the warriors brave,
Whose field of fame, the mountain wave,
Their corses bear to ocean's cave,
Their sepulchre.

Their country's pæans swell their praise;
And whilst the warm tear, gushing, strays,
Full many a bard shall chant his lays,
Their requiem.

The Wasp herself never returned to port. On September 21 she
captured the Atalanta and put a crew on board to take the prize
to America. They parted company, and the Wasp was never seen
again.

THE LOST WAR-SLOOP

(THE WASP, 1814)

O the pride of Portsmouth water,
Toast of every brimming beaker,--
Eighteen hundred and fourteen on land and sea,--
Was the Wasp, the gallant war-sloop,
Built of oaks Kearsarge had guarded,
Pines of Maine to lift her colors high and free!
Every timber scorning cowards;
Every port alert for foemen
From the masthead seen on weather-side or lee;--
With eleven guns to starboard,
And eleven guns to larboard,
All for glory on a morn of May sailed she.

British ships were in the offing;
Swift and light she sped between them,--
Well her daring crew knew shoal and wind and tide;
They had come from Portsmouth river,
Sea-girt Marblehead and Salem,
Bays and islands where the fisher-folk abide;
Come for love of home and country,
Come with wrongs that cried for vengeance,--
Every man among them brave and true and tried.
"Hearts of oak" are British seamen?
Hearts of fire were these, their kindred,
Flaming till the haughty foe should be descried!

From the mountains, from the prairies,
Blew the west winds glad to waft her;--
Ah, what goodly ships before her guns went down!
Ships with wealth of London laden,
Ships with treasures of the Indies,
Till her name brought fear to British wharf and town;
Till the war-sloops Reindeer, Avon,
To her valor struck their colors,
Making coast and ocean ring with her renown;
While her captain cried, exultant,
"Britain, to the bold Republic,
Of the empire of the seas shall yield the crown!"

Oh, the woful, woful ending
Of the pride of Portsmouth water!
Never more to harbor nor to shore came she!
Springs returned but brought no tidings;
Mothers, maidens, broken-hearted,
Wept the gallant lads that sailed away in glee.
Did the bolts of heaven blast her?
Did the hurricanes o'erwhelm her
With her starry banner and her tall masts three?
Was a pirate-fleet her captor?
Did she drift to polar oceans?
Who shall tell the awful secret of the sea!

Who shall tell? yet many a sailor
In his watch at dawn or midnight,
When the wind is wildest and the black waves moan,
Sees a stanch three-master looming;
Hears the hurried call to quarters,
The drum's quick beat and the bugle fiercely blown;--
Then the cannon's direful thunder
Echoes far along the billows;
Then the victor's shout for the foe overthrown;--
And the watcher knows the phantom
Is the Wasp, the gallant war-sloop,
Still a rover of the seas and glory's own!

EDNA DEAN PROCTOR.

The abdication of Napoleon enabled England to turn her
undivided attention to the war with America, and a large body
of troops was detailed for service here. Having lost control
of Lake Erie and Lake Ontario, England determined to secure
Lake Champlain and to invade New York by this route. A force of
twelve thousand regulars, under General George Prevost, started
from Montreal early in August, while the British naval force on
the lake was augmented to nineteen vessels.

ON THE BRITISH INVASION

[1814]

From France, desponding and betray'd,
From liberty in ruins laid,
Exulting Britain has display'd
Her flag, again to invade us.

Her myrmidons, with murdering eye,
Across the broad Atlantic fly,
Prepared again their strength to try,
And strike our country's standard.

Lord Wellington's ten thousand slaves,
And thrice ten thousand, on the waves,
And thousands more of brags and braves
Are under sail, and coming,

To burn our towns, to seize our soil,
To change our laws, our country spoil,
And Madison to Elba's isle
To send without redemption.

In Boston state they hope to find
A Yankee host of kindred mind,
To aid their arms, to rise and bind
Their countrymen in shackles.

But no such thing--it will not do--
At least, not while a Jersey Blue
Is to the cause of freedom true,
Or the bold Pennsylvanian.

A curse on England's frantic schemes!
Both mad and blind, her monarch dreams
Of crowns and kingdoms in these climes,
Where kings have had their sentence.

Though Washington has left our coast,
Yet other Washingtons we boast,
Who rise, instructed by his ghost,
To punish all invaders.

Go where they will, where'er they land,
This pilfering, plundering, pirate band,
They liberty will find at hand
To hurl them to perdition!

If in Virginia they appear,
Their fate is fix'd, their doom is near,
Death in their front, and hell their rear;
So says the gallant buckskin.

All Carolina is prepared,
And Charleston doubly on her guard;
Where, once, Sir Peter badly fared,
So blasted by Fort Moultrie.

If farther south they turn their views,
With veteran troops, or veteran crews,
The curse of Heaven their march pursues,
To send them all a-packing.

The tallest mast that sails the wave,
The longest keel its waters lave,
Will bring them to an early grave
On the shores of Pensacola.

PHILIP FRENEAU.

The American commander on the lake was Thomas Macdonough, and
by almost herculean efforts he managed to build and launch
a ship, a schooner, and a number of gunboats, so that his
total force was raised to fourteen sail. With this fleet, he
proceeded to Plattsburg and anchored in Plattsburg Bay. On
September 11 the British fleet, certain of victory, sailed in
and attacked him, but was ignominiously defeated.

THE BATTLE OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN

[September 11, 1814]

Parading near Saint Peter's flood
Full fourteen thousand soldiers stood;
Allied with natives of the wood,
With frigates, sloops, and galleys near;
Which southward, now, began to steer;
Their object was, Ticonderogue.

Assembled at Missisqui bay
A feast they held, to hail the day,
When all should bend to British sway
From Plattsburgh to Ticonderogue.

And who could tell, if reaching there
They might not other laurels share
And England's flag in triumph bear
To the capitol, at Albany!

Sir George advanced, with fire and sword,
The frigates were with vengeance stored,
The strength of Mars was felt on board,--
When Downie gave the dreadful word,
Huzza! for death or victory!

Sir George beheld the prize at stake,
And, with his veterans, made the attack,
Macomb's brave legions drove him back;
And England's fleet approached, to meet
A desperate combat, on the lake.

From Isle La Motte to Saranac
With sulphurous clouds the heavens were black;
We saw advance the Confiance,
Shall blood and carnage mark her track,
To gain dominion on the lake.

Then on our ships she poured her flame,
And many a tar did kill or maim,
Who suffered for their country's fame,
Her soil to save, her rights to guard.

Macdonough, now, began his play,
And soon his seamen heard him say,
"No Saratoga yields, this day,
To all the force that Britain sends.

"Disperse, my lads, and man the waist,
Be firm, and to your stations haste,
And England from Champlain is chased,
If you behave as you see me."

The fire began with awful roar;
At our first flash the artillery tore,
From his proud stand, their commodore,
A presage of the victory.

The skies were hid in flame and smoke,
Such thunders from the cannon spoke,
The contest such an aspect took
As if all nature went to wreck!

Amidst his decks, with slaughter strewed,
Unmoved, the brave Macdonough stood,
Or waded through a scene of blood,
At every step that round him streamed:

He stood amidst Columbia's sons,
He stood amidst dismounted guns,
He fought amidst heart-rending groans,
The tattered sail, the tottering mast.

Then, round about, his ship he wore,
And charged his guns with vengeance sore,
And more than Etna shook the shore--
The foe confessed the contest vain.

In vain they fought, in vain they sailed,
That day; for Britain's fortune failed,
And their best efforts naught availed
To hold dominion on Champlain.

So, down their colors to the deck
The vanquished struck--their ships a wreck--
What dismal tidings for Quebec,
What news for England and her prince!

For, in this fleet, from England won,
A favorite project is undone;
Her sorrows only are begun--
And she may want, and very soon,
Her armies for her own defence.

PHILIP FRENEAU.

THE BATTLE OF PLATTSBURG BAY

[September 11, 1814]

_Plattsburg Bay! Plattsburg Bay!
Blue and gold in the dawning ray,
Crimson under the high noonday
With the reek of the fray!_

It was Thomas Macdonough, as gallant a sailor
As ever went scurrying over the main;
And he cried from his deck, _If they think I'm a quailer,
And deem they can capture this Lake of Champlain,
We'll show them they're not fighting France, sir, nor Spain_!

So from Cumberland Head to the little Crab Island
He scattered his squadron in trim battle-line;
And when he saw Downie come rounding the highland,
He knelt him, beseeching for guidance divine,
Imploring that Heaven would crown his design.

Then thundered the Eagle her lusty defiance;
The stout Saratoga aroused with a roar;
Soon gunboat and galley in hearty alliance
Their resonant volley of compliments pour;
And ever Macdonough's the man to the fore!

And lo, when the fight toward its fiercest was swirling,
A game-cock, released by a splintering ball,
Flew high in the ratlines, the smoke round him curling,
And over the din gave his trumpeting call,
An omen of ultimate triumph to all!

Then a valianter light touched the powder-grimed faces;
Then faster the shot seemed to plunge from the gun;
And we shattered their yards and we sundered their braces,
And the fume of our cannon--it shrouded the sun;
Cried Macdonough--_Once more, and the battle is won!_

Now, the flag of the haughty Confiance is trailing;
The Linnet in woe staggers in toward the shore;
The Finch is a wreck from her keel to her railing;
The galleys flee fast to the strain of the oar;
Macdonough! 'tis he is the man to the fore!

Oh, our main decks were grim and our gun decks were gory,
And many a brave brow was pallid with pain;
And while some won to death, yet we all won to glory
Who fought with Macdonough that day on Champlain,
And humbled her pride who is queen of the main!

CLINTON SCOLLARD.

While the naval battle was in progress, Prevost made an
assault on the American lines, but was repulsed with loss, and
learning of the fleet's defeat, ordered a retreat. This was so
precipitate that it was almost a flight, and great quantities
of artillery, stores, and provisions fell into the hands of the
Americans.

THE BATTLE OF PLATTSBURG

[September 11, 1814]

Sir George Prevost, with all his host,
March'd forth from Montreal, sir,
Both he and they as blithe and gay
As going to a ball, sir.
The troops he chose were all of those
That conquer'd Marshall Soult, sir;
Who at Garonne (the fact is known)
Scarce brought they to a halt, sir.

With troops like these, he thought with ease
To crush the Yankee faction:
His only thought was how he ought
To bring them into action.
"Your very names," Sir George exclaims,
"Without a gun or bayonet,
Will pierce like darts through Yankee hearts,
And all their spirits stagnate.

"Oh! how I dread lest they have fled
And left their puny fort, sir,
For sure Macomb won't stay at home,
T' afford us any sport, sir.
Good-by!" he said to those that stay'd:
"Keep close as mice or rats snug:
We'll just run out upon a scout,
To burn the town of Plattsburg."

Then up Champlain with might and main
He marched in dress array, sir;
With fife and drum to scare Macomb,
And drive him quite away, sir.
And, side by side, their nation's pride
Along the current beat, sir:
Sworn not to sup till they ate up
McDonough and his fleet, sir.

Still onward came these men of fame,
Resolved to give "no quarter:"
But to their cost they found at last
That they had caught a Tartar.
At distant shot awhile they fought,
By water and by land, sir:
His knightship ran from man to man,
And gave his dread command, sir.

"Britons, strike home! this dog Macomb--
So well the fellow knows us--
Will just as soon jump o'er the moon
As venture to oppose us.
With quick despatch light every match,
Man every gun and swivel,
Cross in a crack the Saranac,
And drive 'em to the devil!"

The Vermont ranks that lined the banks,
Then poised the unerring rifle,
And to oppose their haughty foes
They found a perfect trifle.
Meanwhile the fort kept up such sport,
They thought the devil was in it;
Their mighty train play'd off in vain--
'Twas silenced in a minute.

Sir George, amazed, so wildly gazed,
Such frantic gambols acted,
Of all his men, not one in ten
But thought him quite distracted.
He cursed and swore, his hair he tore,
Then jump'd upon his pony,
And gallop'd off towards the bluff,
To look for Captain Downie.

But when he spied McDonough ride,
In all the pomp of glory,
He hasten'd back to Saranac,
To tell the dismal story:
"My gallant crews--Oh! shocking news--
Are all or killed or taken!
Except a few that just withdrew
In time to save their bacon.

"Old England's pride must now subside.
Oh! how the news will shock her,
To have her fleet not only beat,
But sent to Davy's locker.
From this sad day, let no one say
Britannia rules the ocean:
We've dearly bought the humbling thought,
That this is all a notion.

"With one to ten I'd fight 'gainst men,
But these are Satan's legions,
With malice fraught, some piping hot
From Pluto's darkest regions!
Hélas! mon Dieu! what shall I do?
I smell the burning sulphur--
Set Britain's isle all rank and file,
Such men would soon engulf her.

"That's full as bad--Oh! I'll run mad!
Those western hounds are summon'd;
Gaines, Scott, and Brown are coming down,
To serve me just like Drummond.
Thick, too, as bees, the Vermontese
Are swarming to the lake, sir;
And Izard's men, come back again,
Lie hid in every brake, sir.

"Good Brisbane, beat a quick retreat,
Before their forces join, sir:
For, sure as fate, they've laid a bait
To catch us like Burgoyne, sir.
All round about, keep good look out:
We'll surely be surrounded;
Since I could crawl, my gallant soul
Was never so astounded."

The rout begun, Sir George led on,
His men ran helter skelter,
Each tried his best t' outrun the rest
To gain a place of shelter;
To hide their fear, they gave a cheer,
And thought it mighty cunning--
He'll fight, they say, another day,
Who saves himself by running!

Although the blow at New York had been turned aside, another,
aimed at the Nation's Capital, fell with deadly effect. On
August 24, 1814, a strong force landed in Chesapeake Bay,
routed a force of militia at Bladensburg, entered Washington,
and burned the Capitol, White House, and many other public
buildings. A few days later, Baltimore was attacked.

THE BATTLE OF BALTIMORE

[September 12, 1814]

Old Ross, Cockburn, and Cochrane too,
And many a bloody villain more,
Swore with their bloody savage crew,
That they would plunder Baltimore.
But General Winder being afraid
That his militia would not stand,
He sent away to crave the aid
Of a few true Virginians.
Then up we rose with hearts elate,
To help our suffering sister state.

When first our orders we received,
For to prepare without delay,
Our wives and sweethearts for to leave,
And to the army march away,
Although it grieved our hearts full sore,
To leave our sweet Virginia shore,
We kiss'd our sweethearts o'er and o'er,
And march'd like true Virginians.
Adieu awhile, sweet girls, adieu,
With honor we'll return to you.

With rapid marches on we went,
To leave our sweet Virginia shore,
No halt was made, no time was spent,
Till we arrived at Baltimore.
The Baltimoreans did us greet,
The ladies clapt their lily-white hands,
Exclaiming as we passed the street,
"Welcome, ye brave Virginians.
May Heaven all your foes confound,
And send you home with laurels crown'd."

We had not been in quarters long,
Before we heard the dread alarms,
The cannon roar'd, the bells did ring,
The drum did beat to arms, to arms.
Then up we rose to face our foes,
Determined to meet them on the strand,
And drive them back from fair Freedom's shore,
Or die like brave Virginians.
In Heaven above we placed our trust,
Well knowing that our cause is just.

Then Ross he landed at North Point,
With seven thousand men or more,
And swore by that time next night,
That he would be in Baltimore.
But Striker met him on the strand,
Attended by a chosen band,
Where he received a fatal shot
From a brave Pennsylvanian--
Whom Heaven directed to the field,
To make this haughty Briton yield.

Then Cockburn he drew up his fleet,
To bombard Fort McHenry,
A thinking that our men, of course,
Would take affright and run away.
The fort was commanded by a patriotic band,
As ever graced fair Freedom's land,
And he who did the fort command
Was a true blue Virginian.
Long may we have brave Armstead's name
Recorded on the book of fame.

A day and a night they tried their might,
But found their bombs did not prevail,
And seeing their army put to flight,
They weigh'd their anchor and made sail,
Resolving to return again,
To execute their former plan;
But if they do, they'll find us still
That we are brave Virginians.
And they shall know before they've done,
That they are not in Washington.

But now their shipping's out of sight,
And each man takes a parting glass,
Drinks to his true love and heart's delight,
His only joy and bosom friend,
For I might as well drink a health,
For I hate to see good liquor stand,
That America may always boast
That we are brave Virginians.

The next day, Admiral Cochrane moved his fleet into position
to attack Fort McHenry, two miles above the city, and began
a terrific bombardment, which lasted all the night. The fort
answered with such guns as would reach the ships, and when
morning dawned, the Stars and Stripes were still floating over
it. The British feared to attack an intrenchment so gallantly
defended, and the next day retreated to their shipping.

FORT McHENRY

[September 13, 1814]

Thy blue waves, Patapsco, flow'd soft and serene,
Thy hills and thy valleys were cheerful and gay,
While the day-star of Peace shed its beams on the scene,
And youth, love, and beauty reflected its ray.

Where white-bosom'd commerce late reign'd o'er thy tide,
And zephyrs of gladness expanded each sail,
I saw hostile squadrons in dread array ride,
While their thunders reëchoed o'er hill and o'er vale.

But our heroes, thy sons, proud in panoply rose,
For their homes,--for their altars,--to conquer or die;
With the lightning of freedom encounter'd their foes;
Taught the veteran to tremble,--the valiant to fly.

Now, how tranquil thy scenes when the clangors of war
Late broke the soft dreams of the fair and the young!
To the tombs of thy heroes shall beauty repair,
And their deeds by our bards shall forever be sung.

On the iron-crown'd fortress "that frowns o'er thy flood,"
And tells the sad fate of the gay and the brave,
In mournful reflection Eliza late stood,
And paid a soft tribute--a tear on their grave.

To the manes of the fallen, oh! how grateful that tear!
Far sweeter to me than the Spring's richest bloom:
Such rewards light the fire of Chivalry here,
And when the brave fall--ever hallow their tomb.

Just before the bombardment began, Francis Scott Key had put
out to the admiral's frigate to arrange for an exchange of
prisoners, and was directed to remain till the action was over.
All that night he watched the flaming shells, and when, by the
first rays of the morning, he saw his country's flag still
waving above the fort, he hastily wrote the stirring verses
which have since become America's national song.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER

[September 13, 1814]

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming!
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there:
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

The destruction of Washington, besides being perhaps the most
outrageous act of vandalism ever committed by a Christian army,
was a grave tactical error. One feeling of wrath and cry for
vengeance swept the land; party differences were forgotten, and
the whole country pressed forward to prosecute the war with an
enthusiasm and vigor which had before been sadly wanting.

YE PARLIAMENT OF ENGLAND

Ye parliament of England,
You lords and commons, too,
Consider well what you're about,
And what you're going to do;
You're now to fight with Yankees,
I'm sure you'll rue the day
You roused the sons of liberty,
In North America.

You first confined our commerce,
And said our ships shan't trade,
You next impressed our seamen,
And used them as your slaves;
You then insulted Rogers,
While ploughing o'er the main,
And had not we declarèd war,
You'd have done it o'er again.

You thought our frigates were but few
And Yankees could not fight,
Until brave Hull your Guerrière took
And banished her from your sight.
The Wasp then took your Frolic,
We'll nothing say to that,
The Poictiers being of the line,
Of course she took her back.

The next, your Macedonian,
No finer ship could swim,
Decatur took her gilt-work off,
And then he sent her in.
The Java, by a Yankee ship
Was sunk, you all must know;
The Peacock fine, in all her plume,
By Lawrence down did go.

Then next you sent your Boxer,
To box us all about,
But we had an Enterprising brig
That beat your Boxer out;
We boxed her up to Portland,
And moored her off the town,
To show the sons of liberty
The Boxer of renown.

The next upon Lake Erie,
Where Perry had some fun,
You own he beat your naval force,
And caused them for to run;
This was to you a sore defeat,
The like ne'er known before--
Your British squadron beat complete--
Some took, some run ashore.

There's Rogers in the President,
Will burn, sink, and destroy;
The Congress, on the Brazil coast,
Your commerce will annoy;
The Essex, in the South Seas,
Will put out all your lights,
The flag she waves at her mast-head--
"Free Trade and Sailor's Rights."

Lament, ye sons of Britain,
Far distant is the day,
When you'll regain by British force
What you've lost in America;
Go tell your king and parliament,
By all the world 'tis known,
That British force, by sea and land,
By Yankees is o'erthrown.

Use every endeavor,
And strive to make a peace,
For Yankee ships are building fast,
Their navy to increase;
They will enforce their commerce,
The laws by heaven are made,
That Yankee ships in time of peace
To any port may trade.

Nor was the outrage universally applauded, even in England. An
anti-war party had arisen there, and was constantly growing in
strength.

THE BOWER OF PEACE