Chapter XIII: Part VI: The War of 1812 (2)

[A] The temple of Jaggernaut, an idolatrous establishment in
India, to the support of which the english government
contributed largely. The unwieldy idol, to which the
temple is dedicated, is, on certain days, carried about the
streets on a huge carriage, under the wheels of which the
superstitious multitude, it is said, suffer themselves to
be trampled and crushed to pieces, by hundreds, from a
superstitious motive. If this be not fiction, may the
british government exert its influence to eradicate so
barbarous and bloody a superstition from the minds of
millions of idolatrous wretches.--_Freneau's note._

To see her murder'd, mangled sons,
To worship idols, stocks, and stones,
Or reliques of some scoundrel's bones.

And "long may heaven on England smile--
(So says our preacher, all the while)
The world's last hope, fast anchor'd isle!"--

Religion there is made no sport,
State tailors there have deckt her out
In a birth-day suit--to go to court!--

LINES ON NAPOLEON BONAPARTE[203]

Napoleon, born for regal sway,
With fortune in a smiling mood,
To a foreign land explored his way,
Where Cairo stands, or Memphis stood.

And still he fought, and still she smiled,
And urged him far, and spurr'd him on,
And on his march, at length beguiled,
One thinking man to wear a crown.

The crown attracted many a care,
And war employ'd him, day and night;
He by a princess had an heir
Born to succeed him, or--who might.

Through russian tribes he forced his way,
To blast their hopes and hurl them down
Whose valor might dispute his sway,
Or dispossess him of a crown.

At last arrived the fatal time,
When powerful tyrants, jealous grown,
Agreed to count it for a crime
A commoner should fill a throne.

European states, with England join'd
To keep unmixt the royal race,
And let the famed Napoleon find
A dotard might supply his place.

[203] This poem and the one following were written shortly after the news of Napoleon's banishment to Elba, April 11, 1814, had reached America.

ON THE DISMISSION OF BONAPARTE

From the French Throne.

Famed Bonaparte, in regal pride,
Put slighted Josephine aside,
And wedded an imperial bride,
Of fortune sure.

But when he droop'd, and when he fell,
(I took my pen and mark'd it well)
This jilt of jilts, this austrian belle,
No longer styled him, Mon Amour;

Which means, I think, my dearest heart,
My love!--but lovers often part
When friendship does not point the dart,
Nor fix the flame.

And warning, hence, let others take,
Nor love's decree for interest break;
In marriage, too much lies at stake
To slight its claim.

Retreating to the tuscan coast,
An empire, wife, and fortune lost,
He found the throne a dangerous post,
And wars a cheat;

Where all, who play their game too deep,
Must hazard life, and discord reap,
Or thrown from grandeur's giddy steep,
Lament their fate.

Napoleon, with an empty chest!
An austrian princess must detest;
And yet, she wears upon her breast
The painted toy;[A]

[A] A miniature picture of the late emperor
Napoleon.--_Freneau's note._

And often weeps, the story goes,
That royal blood not wholly flows
In every vein, from head to toes,
Of her dear boy.

To Elba's isle she could not go--
The royal orders said "No, no!
On Elba's island we bestow
No royal throne:"

And thus Napoleon, shoved from power,
Has many a lonely gloomy hour
To walk on Elba's sea-beat shore,
Alone! alone!

O save us from ambition's sway,
Ye powers, who tread the milky way;
It will deceive, it will betray
Nine out of ten.

Napoleon's history let us read:
In science he was great indeed--
Ambition's lantern did mislead
This prince of men:--

And yet, ambition had its use,
It check'd the royal game of goose,
And many a flagrant vile abuse
Fell at his frown.

But, doom'd to share immortal fame,
Despotic powers will dread his name,
Though he, perhaps, was much the same,
Raised to a throne!

THE PRINCE REGENT'S RESOLVE

The regent prince, enraged to find
The standard from his frigates torn,
To a full court thus spoke his mind,
With hand display'd and soul of scorn,
"Since fate decreed Napoleon's fall,
Now, now's the time to conquer all!

"We at the head of all that's great,
Tis ours to hold the world in awe:
Let Louis reign in regal state,
And let his subjects own his law;
Their tide of power tis ours to stem--
We'll govern those who govern them.

"But here's the rub, and here's my grief;
My frigates from the seas are hurl'd!
What shall we do? how find relief?
How strike and stupefy the world?
Our flag, that long control'd the main,
Our standard must be raised again.

"A land there lies towards the west
There must my royal will be done;
That land is an infernal nest
Of reptiles, rul'd by Madison:
That nest I swear to humble down,
There plant a king, and there a crown.

"Depart, my fleet, depart, my slaves,
Invade that nest, attack and burn;
Where'er the ocean rolls his waves,
Subdue, or dare not to return;
Subdue and plunder all you can,
Who plunders most--shall be my man.

"To scatter death, by fire and sword,
To prostrate all, where'er you go:
That is the mandate, that the word,
Though seas of blood around you flow:
No more!--go, aid the indian yell:
Be conquerors, and I'll feed you well.

So spoke the prince, but little knew
His minions were for slaughter fed;
Nor did he guess, that vengeance, too,
Would fall on his devoted head;
When all his plans and projects fail,
And he ascends Belshazzar's scale.[A]

[A] Mene mene, Tekel, Peres!--thou art weighed in the balance,
and art found wanting!--Daniel.--_Freneau's note._

THE VOLUNTEER'S MARCH[A]

July, 1814

Dulce est pro patria mori.

[A] This little ode, with the addition of two new stanzas is
somewhat altered from one of Robert Burns' compositions,
and applied to an american occasion: the original being
Bruce's supposed address to his army, a little before the
battle of Bannockbourne.--_Freneau's note._

Ye, whom Washington has led,
Ye, who in his footsteps tread,
Ye, who death nor danger dread,
Haste to glorious victory.

Now's the day and now's the hour;
See the British navy lour,
See approach proud George's power,
England! chains and slavery.

Who would be a traitor knave?
Who would fill a coward's grave?
Who so base to be a slave?
Traitor, coward, turn and flee.

Meet the tyrants, one and all;
Freemen stand, or freemen fall--
At Columbia's patriot call,
At her mandate, march away!

Former times have seen them yield,
Seen them drove from every field,
Routed, ruin'd, and repell'd--
Seize the spirit of those times!

By oppression's woes and pains--
By our sons in servile chains
We will bleed from all our veins
But they shall be--shall be free.

O'er the standard of their power
Bid Columbia's eagle tower,
Give them hail in such a shower
As shall blast them--horse and man!

Lay the proud invaders low,
Tyrants fall in every foe;
Liberty's in every blow,
Forward! let us do or die.

THE BATTLE OF STONINGTON

ON THE SEABOARD OF CONNECTICUT

In an attack upon the town and a small fort of two guns, by the Ramillies, seventy-four gun ship, commanded by Sir Thomas Hardy; the Pactolus, 38 gun ship, Despatch, brig of 22 guns, and a razee, or bomb ship.--August, 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 th' 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.

ON THE BRITISH INVASION

1814[204]

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,[A]
And thrice ten thousand, on the waves,
And thousands more of brags and braves
Are under sail, and coming

[A] Lord Wellington's army embarked on the river Garonne, in
France, in several divisions, for the invasion of the
United States, amounting, it was said, to sixty or seventy
thousand men.--_Freneau's note._

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.

[204] This poem was written early in August, on receipt of the news that a large squadron was on its way across the Atlantic to lay waste the seaboard cities. The squadron finally sailed into Chesapeake Bay and turned its attention first to Washington and Baltimore.

ON THE ENGLISH DEVASTATIONS

AT THE CITY OF WASHINGTON[205]

Their power abused! that power may soon descend:
Years, not remote, may see their glory end:--
The british power, the avaricious crown,
Pull'd every flag, hurl'd every standard down;
Columbian ships they seized on every sea,
Condemn'd those ships, nor left our sailors free.--
So long a tyrant on the watery stage,
They thought to tyrannize through every age;
They hoped all commerce to monopolize;
Europe, at sea, they affected to despise;
They laugh'd at France contending for a share
Of commerce, one would think, as free as air.
They captured most, without remorse or plea,
And grew as proud as arrogance could be.

Stung by a thousand wrongs, at length arose
The Western States, these tyrants to oppose;
With just resentment, met them on the main,
And burnt, or sunk their ships, with hosts of slain.

The blood ran black from every english heart
To see their empire from the seas depart,
To see their flag to thirteen stripes surrender,
And many an english ship made fire and tinder;
They swore, they raged; they saw, with patience spent,
Each last engagement had the same event--
What could they do? revenge inspired their breasts,
And hell's sensations seized their swelling chests.--
All to revenge, to Maryland they came,
And costly works of art assail'd with flame;
In Washington they left a dismal void,--
Poor compensation for their ships destroy'd!--
We burn, where guns their frigates poorly guard;
They burn, where scarce a gun is seen or heard!

[205] Washington was taken by the British, August 24, 1814. "It was only the vandalism of the British soldiers and sailors, incited by Cockburn and ill restrained by Ross, that made this incursion at once memorable and infamous. To public edifices, having no immediate relation to the war, the torch was applied; to the unfinished Capitol (which contained the library of Congress); the President's house, the Treasury,--to all the government buildings in fact, except the Patent Office, besides numerous private dwellings about Capitol Hill."--Schouler's _History of the United States_.

"All this was the more shameful because done under strict orders from home."--Green's _History of the English People_.

ON THE CONFLAGRATIONS AT WASHINGTON

August 24, 1814

----Jam deiphobi dedit ampla ruinam,
Vulcano superante, domus; jam proximus ardet
Ucalegon.--_Virgil._

Now, George the third rules not alone,
For George the vandal shares the throne,
True flesh of flesh and bone of bone.

God save us from the fangs of both;
Or, one a vandal, one a goth,
May roast or boil us into froth.

Like danes, of old, their fleet they man
And rove from Beersheba to Dan,
To burn, and beard us--where they can.

They say, at George the fourth's command
This vagrant host were sent, to land
And leave in every house--a brand.

An idiot only would require
Such war--the worst they could desire--
The felon's war--the war of fire.

The warfare, now, th' invaders make
Must surely keep us all awake,
Or life is lost for freedom's sake.

They said to Cockburn, "honest Cock!
To make a noise and give a shock
Push off, and burn their navy dock:

"Their capitol shall be emblazed!
How will the buckskins stand amazed,
And curse the day its walls were raised!"

Six thousand heroes disembark--
Each left at night his floating ark
And Washington was made their mark.

That few would fight them--few or none--
Was by their leaders clearly shown--
And "down," they said, "with Madison!"

How close they crept along the shore!
As closely as if Rodgers saw her--
A frigate to a seventy-four.

A veteran host, by veterans led,
With Ross and Cockburn at their head--
They came--they saw--they burnt--and fled.

But not unpunish'd they retired;
They something paid, for all they fired,
In soldiers kill'd, and chiefs expired.

Five hundred veterans bit the dust,
Who came, inflamed with lucre's lust--
And so they waste--and so they must.

They left our congress naked walls--
Farewell to towers and capitols!
To lofty roofs and splendid halls!

To courtly domes and glittering things,
To folly, that too near us clings,
To courtiers who--tis well--had wings.

Farewell to all but glorious war,
Which yet shall guard Potomac's shore,
And honor lost, and fame restore.

To conquer armies in the field
Was, once, the surest method held
To make a hostile country yield.

The mode is this, now acted on;
In conflagrating Washington,
They held our independence gone!

Supposing George's house at Kew
Were burnt, (as we intend to do,)
Would that be burning England too?

Supposing, near the silver Thames
We laid in ashes their saint James,
Or Blenheim palace wrapt in flames;

Made Hampton Court to fire a prey,
And meanly, then, to sneak away,
And never ask them, what's to pay?

Would that be conquering London town?
Would that subvert the english throne,
Or bring the royal system down?

With all their glare of guards or guns,
How would they look like simpletons,
And not at all the lion's sons!

Supposing, then, we take our turn
And make it public law, to burn,
Would not old english honor spurn

At such a mean insidious plan
Which only suits some savage clan--
And surely not--the english man!

A doctrine has prevail'd too long;
A king, they hold, can do no wrong--
Merely a pitch-fork, without prong:

But de'il may trust such doctrines, more,--
One king, that wrong'd us, long before,
Has wrongs, by hundreds, yet in store.

He wrong'd us forty years ago;
He wrongs us yet, we surely know;
He'll wrong us till he gets a blow

That, with a vengeance, will repay
The mischiefs we lament this day,
This burning, damn'd, infernal play;

Will send one city to the sky,
Its buildings low and buildings high,
And buildings--built the lord knows why;

Will give him an eternal check
That breaks his heart or breaks his neck,
And plants our standard on Quebec.

TO THE LAKE SQUADRONS[206]

The brilliant task to you assign'd
Asks every effort of the mind,
And every energy, combined,
To crush the foe.

Sail where they will, you must be there;
Lurk where they can, you will not spare
The blast of death--but all things dare
To bring them low.

To wield his thunders on Champlain,
Macdonough leads his gallant train,
And, his great object to sustain,
Vermont unites

Her hardy youths and veterans bold
From shelter'd vale and mountain cold,
Who fought, to guard, in days of old
Their country's rights.

That country's wrongs are all your own
And to the world the word is gone--
Her independence must to none
Be sign'd away.

Be to the nation's standard true,
To Britain, and to Europe shew
That you can fight and conquer too,
And prostrate lay.

That bitter foe, whose thousands rise
No more to fight us in disguise,
But count our freedom for their prize,
If valor fails:

Beneath your feet let fear be cast,
Remember deeds of valor past,
And nail your colors to the mast
And spread your sails.

In all the pride and pomp of war
Let thunders from the cannon roar,
And lightnings flash from shore to shore,
To wing the ball.

Let Huron from his slumbers wake,
Bid Erie to his centre shake,
Till, foundering in Ontario's lake,
You swamp them all!

[206] This poem refers to the campaign during the late summer of 1814 against the English fleet on Lake Ontario and Lake Champlain.

THE BATTLE OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN

September 11, 1814

Between the british squadron, of 93 guns and 1050 men, and the American fleet of 86 guns and 820 men. The Confiance, of 39 and the Saratoga, of 26 guns, were the flag ships of the two commanders, Downie and Macdonough.

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 Plattsburg 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 approach'd to meet
A desperate combat, on the lake.

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 pour'd her flame,
And many a tar did kill or maim,
Who suffer'd 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'll 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!
From isle La Motte to Saranac[A]

[A] A river which rises from several small lakes among the
mountains to the westward of Lake Champlain, and after a
north easterly course of near seventy-five miles, enters
the grand lake in the vicinity of Plattsburg.--_Freneau's
note._

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

He stood amidst Columbia's sons,
He stood amidst dismounted guns,
He fought amidst heart-rending groans,
The tatter'd 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 confess'd the contest vain.

In vain they fought, in vain they sail'd,
That day; for Britain's fortune fail'd,
And their best efforts nought avail'd
To hold dominion on Champlain.

So, down their colors to the deck
The vanquish'd 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.

A DIALOGUE AT WASHINGTON'S TOMB

Genius of Virginia--and--Virginia.

_Genius._ Who are these that lawless come
Washington! too near thy tomb?--
Are they those who, long before,
Came to subjugate this shore?--
Are they those whom he repell'd,
Captured, or imprison'd held?
Or the sons of those of old
Cast in nature's rudest mould,--
Dear Virginia, can it be?
What a stain is laid on thee!

_Virginia._ Such a stain as I do swear
Fills my swelling heart with care
How to wash away the stain,
How to be myself again.
From my breast the hero rose,
In my soil his bones repose:
But this insult to thy shade,
Washington, shall be repaid.

_Genius._ Dear Virginia! tell me how?--
Tell me not, or tell me now,
Can you wield the bolts of Jove,
Seize the lightnings from above?
Tear the mountain from its base
To confound this hated race,
Who, with hostile step, presume
To violate the honor'd tomb
Of my bravest, noblest son,
Of th' immortal Washington!

_Virginia._ Not the artillery of the sky,
Not the vengeance from on high
Did I want, to guard my son,
I have lightnings of my own!
But I wanted----

_Genius._ ----Wanted what?
Tell me now, or tell me not.

_Virginia._ Men, whom Washington had taught,
Men of fire, and men of thought,
All their spirits in a glow,
Ever ready for the foe;
Born to meet the hostile shock,
Sturdy as the mountain oak--
Active, steady, on their guard,
For the scene of death prepared;
Such I wanted--say no more;
Time, perhaps, may such restore.

_Genius._ By the powers that guard this spot,
Want them longer you shall not,
I, the patron of your land,
From this moment take command,
Kindle flames in every breast,
Thirst of vengeance for the past;
Vengeance, that from shore to shore
Shall dye your bay with english gore,
And see them leave their thousands slain,
If they dare to land again:
This is all I choose to say--
Seize your armour--let's away!

SIR PETER PETRIFIED

On the Modern Sir Peter Parker's[207] Expedition to Kent Island in Chesapeake Bay.

--1814--

Sir Peter came, with bold intent,
To persecute the men of Kent
His flag aloft display'd:
He came to see their pleasant farms,
But ventured not without his arms
To talk with man or maid.

And then the gallant colonel Reed
Said, "we must see the man indeed;
He comes perhaps in want--
Who knows but that his stores are out:
Tis hard to dine on mere sour krout,
His water may be scant."

He spoke--but soon the men of Kent
Discover'd what the errand meant,
And some, discouraged, said,
"Sir Peter comes to petrify,
He points his guns, his colors fly,
His men for war array'd!"

Secure, as if they own'd the land,
Advanced this daring naval band,
As if in days of peace;
Along the shore they, prowling, went,
And often ask'd some friends in Kent
Where dwelt the fattest geese?

The farmers' geese were doom'd to bleed;
But some there were, with colonel Reed,
Who would not yield assent;
And said, before the geese they take,
Sir Peter must a bargain make
With us, the boys of Kent.

The Britons march'd along the shore,
Two hundred men, or somewhat more;
Next, through the woods they stray'd:
The geese, still watchful, as they went,
To save the capitol of Kent
Their every step betray'd.

The british march'd with loaded gun
To seize the geese that gabbling run
About the isle of Kent:
But, what could hardly be believed,
Sir Peter was of life bereaved
Before he pitch'd his tent.

Some kentish lad, to save the geese,
And make their noisy gabbling cease
Had took a deadly aim:
By kentish hands sir Peter fell,
His men retreated, with a yell
And lost both geese and game!

Now what I say, I say with grief,
That such a knight, or such a chief
On such an errand died!!!
When men of worth their lives expose
For little things, where little grows
They make the very geese their foes;
The geese his fall deride:

And, sure, they laugh, if laugh they can,
To see a star and garter'd man
For life of goose expose his own,
And bite the dust, with many a groan--
Alas! a gander cry'd--
"Behold, (said he,) a man of fame
Who all the way from England came
No more than just to get the name
Of Peter Petrified!"

[207] Sir Peter Parker, commander of the British Frigate _Menelaus_, was prominent for a month in the blockading squadron in Chesapeake Bay during the summer of 1814. After the burning of Washington he was ordered down the bay "but Sir Peter said he 'must have a frolic with the yankees before he left them' and on the 30th of August after dancing and drinking they proceeded to the sport and made a circuitous route to surprise Col. Read encamped in Moore's fields not far from Georgetown X Roads on the eastern shore of Maryland. The Colonel was fully apprised of their proceedings.... The ground was obstinately contended for nearly an hour when the enemy retreated leaving thirteen killed and three wounded on the field. It is ascertained that they carried off seventeen others among whom was Sir Peter who, with several others, are since dead."--_Niles' Register._

ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL ROSS[208]

Who had the principal command of the english army at the attack upon Baltimore, in which he fell, while out with a reconnoitering party.

Give them the shadow of the cypress bough!
The chief who came our prowess to defy,
Who came, to bind fresh laurels on his brow,
Who came, too sure to conquer not to die:--
Low lies the chief upon th' unconscious plain,
The laurels wither, and no wreathes remain.

To kindle up your torch, ambition's flame
Heroic chief, had all its flames supplied;
A monarch's smiles, a never-dying name,
The historian's subject, and the soldier's pride;
Your native land with splendid trophies hung;
Joy sparkling in the eye, and praise from every tongue.

Deceived how much! a name alone remains,
Not yet complete in fame, nor ripe in years;--
What is the applause such thirst of glory gains,
Which not the grave regards or valor hears:
In war's wild tumult, for a name he died,
He fell, the victim of a monarch's pride.

A country's rights, or freedom to defend
May sooth the anguish of a dying hour,
A ravaged land to succor or befriend,
To brave the efforts of a tyrant's power:
These may console, when mad ambition's train
Fade from the view, or sooth the soul in vain.

[208] General Robert Ross, who with Sir George Cockburn had burned Washington, was killed at North Point, Md., Sept. 12, 1814.

ON THE NAVAL ATTACK NEAR BALTIMORE[209]

September 14, 1814

The sons of old ocean advanced from the bay
To achieve an exploit of renown;
And Cochrane and Cockburn commanded, that day,
And meant to exhibit a tragical play,
Call'd, The plunder and burning of Baltimore town.

The scenes to be acted were not very new,
And when they approach'd, with their rat-tat-too,
As merry as times would allow,
We ran up the colors to liberty true,
And gave them a shot, with a tow-row-dow.

By land and by water how many have fail'd
In attacking an enemy's town,
But britons they tell us, have always prevail'd
Wherever they march'd, or wherever they sail'd,
To honor his majesty's sceptre and crown:

Wherever they went, with the trumpet and drum,
And the dregs of the world, and the dirt, and the scum,
As soon as the music begun,
The colors were struck, and surrender'd the town
When the summons was given of down, down, down!

But fortune, so fickle, is turning her tide,
And safe is old Baltimore town,
Though Cockburn and Cochrane, with Ross at their side,
The sons of Columbia despised and defy'd,
And determined to batter it down;
Rebuff'd and repulsed in disgrace they withdrew,
With their down, down, down, and their rat-tat-too,
As well as the times would allow:
And the sight, we expect, will be not very new
When they meet us again, with our tow-row-dow.

[209] After the burning of Washington the British fleet and army concentrated upon Baltimore. Here they met a stubborn resistance and were at length beaten off. It was during the bombardment of Fort McHenry near the city that Francis Scott Key composed the patriotic song "The Star Spangled Banner."

ON THE BRITISH BLOCKADE

And Expected Attack on New York, 1814

Old Neversink,[A] with bonnet blue,
The present times may surely rue
When told what England means to do:

[A] The highlands, a little southward of Sandy Hook; being a
tract of bold high country, several thousand acres in
extent; to the southward of which there is no land that
may be termed mountainous, on the whole coast of the
United States to Cape Florida. The real aboriginal name
of this remarkable promontory was Navesink, since corrupted
into Neversink.--_Freneau's note._

Where from the deep his head he rears
The din of war salutes his ears,
That teazed him not for thirty years.

He eastward looks toward the main
To see a noisy naval train
Invest his bay, our fleets detain.

What can be done in such a case?--
His rugged heights the blast must face,
The storm that menaces the place.

With tents I see his mountain spread,
The soldier to the summit led,
And cannon planted on his head:

From Shrewsbury beach to Sandy Hook
The country has a martial look,
And quakers skulk in every nook.--

What shall be done in such a case?--
We ask again with woful face
To save the trade and guard the place?

Where mounted guns the porte secure,
The cannon at the embrasure,
Will british fleets attempt to moor?

Perhaps they may--and make a dash,
To fill their pockets with our cash--
Their dealings now are rather harsh.

They menace to assail the coast
With such a fleet and such a host
As may devour us--boil'd or roast.

Their feelings are alive and sore
For what they got at Baltimore,
When, with disgrace, they left the shore,

And will revenge it, if they can,
On town and country, maid and man--
And all they fear is Fulton's plan;

Torpedoes planted in the deep,
Whose blast may put them all to sleep,
Or ghostify them at a sweep.

Another scheme, entirely new,
Is hammering on his anvil too,
That frightens christian, turk, and jew.

A frigate,[B] mounting thirty six!--
Who'er with her a quarrel picks
Will little get but cuffs and kicks:

[B] The steam frigate _Fulton the First_: Qui me percellit morti
debetur--who strikes at me to death is doomed!--_Freneau's
note._

A frigate meant to sail by steam!--
How can she else but torture them,
Be proof to all their fire and flame.

A feast she cooks for England's sons
Of scalded heads and broken bones
Discharged from iron hearted guns.

Black Sam[C] himself, before he died,
Such _suppers_ never did provide;--
Such dinners roasted, boil'd, and fry'd.

[C] A character well known in New York several years since,
remarkable for elegance and luxurious refinements in the
art of cookery.--_idem._

To make a brief of all I said--
If to attack they change blockade
Their godships will be well repaid

With water, scalding from the pot,
With melted lead and flaming shot,
With vollies of--I know not what,

The british lads will be so treated:
Their wooden walls will be so heated,
Their ruin will be soon completed.

Our citizens shall stare and wonder--
The Neversink repel their thunder
And Cockburn miss a handsome plunder.

ROYAL CONSULTATIONS

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 harass 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 Cockburn 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 damn'd when they saw him approach.

The forts were assail'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 Cockburn are running away.[A]

[A] About this time, September, 1814, the admirals Cochrane and
Cockburn 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 anchored 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, damnation 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 hell 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 damn!
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 bumpers 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.

On our decks stood rugged men,
Little more than three times ten;
And I tremble, while my pen
Tells the havoc that was made.

Up they came, with colors red,
One a stern, and one a head--
Shall I tell you what they said?--
Yankees! strike the buntin rag!

Three were ranged on either side--
Then the ports were open'd wide,
And the sea with blood was dyed;
Ruin to the english flag!

Now the angry cannons roar,
Now they hurl the storm of war,
Now in floods of human gore
Swam the prince of Neufchatel!

Then the captain, Ordonneaux,
Seconded the seaman's blow,
And the remnant of the foe
Own'd the brig defended well.

For the million she contain'd
He contended, sword in hand,
Follow'd by as brave a band
Of tars, as ever, trod a deck.

In these bloody barges, five,
Scarce a man was left alive,
And about the seas they drive;
Some were sunk, and some a wreck.

Every effort that they made
With boarding pike, or carronade,
Every effort was repaid,
Scarcely with a parallel!

Fortune, thus, upon the wave,
Crown'd the valor of the brave:--
Little lost, and much to save,
Had the prince of Neufchatel.

[210] Of the numerous vessels fitted out during the war by private parties to prey on British commerce the Prince de Neufchatel was doubtless the most successful.

THE PARADE AND SHAM-FIGHT

A Pine Forest Picture--on a Training Day.

----Invictaque bello
Dextera! non illi se quisquam impune tulisset
Obvius armato----
_Virg._

The drum was beat, the flag display'd,
The soldiers met upon parade,
And all for action ready made
With loud huzza!

When forth a stately figure strode,
Of stature such, of such a mode,
As those who lived before the flood,
If stuff'd with straw.

His vigor seem'd by years unbroke;
But then his phiz had such a look,
As if preserved in Etna's smoke
For half an age.

God help us all to look our best!
This man was captain of the rest,
And valor seem'd to fire his breast
With martial rage.

His horse was of an iron grey;
(A prancing steed he rode that day,)
Not of the bold virginian breed,
Nor yet remote from Quixote's steed.

This chief was of the bullet mould;
To meet the conflict, firm and bold,
His coat was patch'd, his boots new soal'd,
Ham stuff'd his maw:

Two pounds of powder fill'd his horn,
His pantaloons were old and worn,
A cap and hat his head adorn--
The chapeau bras.

With vengeance heated, long in store,
He sallied forth, a man of war;
And all that meet him, pray take care
Of rusty pikes.

He had no helmet for the head,
But death and ruin near him tread,
And slaughter, in a suit of red,
That deadly strikes.

A blanket from his shoulders hung,
Three dollars in his pockets rung,
And to his thigh a faulchion clung,
That made us quake:

A veteran in the fighting trade!
The owner of so keen a blade!
Do not provoke him, man or maid,
For mercy's sake.

O could you but one furlong ride
With such a faulchion at your side,
Your bosom would for glory beat
And show Napoleon all complete!

Two pistols, to his girdle tied,
Foreboded vengeance, far and wide,
To all that were not on our side,
With heart and hand.

Accoutred thus, with martial air,
He gave the warning word, "Take care!"
And, in a moment, all was war,
Sublime and grand.

They march'd, and march'd, as thick as bees.
Then march'd towards a clump of trees;
And "blaze away!" the leader says--
"Each take his aim!

"Who wounds a tree can kill a man--
"If you but practise on that plan,
"The britons shall go home again
With grief and shame!"

Not Philip's famed, unrivall'd son,
For Greece subdued, or India won,
Not Cockburn, burning Washington,
Look'd so elate:

Not Bonaparte, on Egypt's sands
With such importance gave commands,
With such discretion train'd his bands,
Assumed such state!

Not Caesar, when he pass'd the Rhine,
Not Marlborough leading up his line,
Not Perry, when he said, "they're mine!"
Put on such airs;--

As now were shown to front and rear
When victory seem'd to hover near.
Indeed not purchased very dear--
No wounds nor scars.

Departing from the norman shore,
Not William such a feature wore
When England hail'd him conqueror,
With loud acclaim:

Not Fulton, when his steam he try'd
And Neptune's car stemm'd Hudson's tide
Felt such a generous glow of pride
For well earn'd fame.

That day Cornwallis met his fate,
Not Washington felt half so great
When tow'rd him flew the gallic fleet
To share his smile:

Not conquest had for Gates such charms
When, yielding to the victor's arms,
He bade Burgoyne resign his arms,
In soldier's style.

Not Ajax' self, with such a grace
Gave orders to attack a place;
Not Hannibal with bolder face
Approach'd old Rome,--

When marching for the Tiber shore,
He yet his alpine jacket wore,
And hoped to sweep the senate floor,
And fix their doom:

Not Parker,[A] when he cross'd the bar
Of Charleston with his men of war,
Was, near fort Moultrie, half so sure
Of victory gain'd:

[A] Sir Peter Parker, it is well remembered, attacked fort
Moultrie, on Sullivan's Island, in 1776, and after a
sanguinary action, was repulsed with great loss.--_Freneau's
note._

Not Parker, when departing thence
So shatter'd--at the king's expense--
Was so provoked at the defence,
Felt so chagrined,

As did our chief (no captain Brag)
When he perceiv'd some worthless wag
Had stolen away the brandy keg--
Ah! loss indeed!

For this, he swore he would resign,
All future trust in man decline;
Of whom, at least, there was one swine,
They all agreed--

And cry'd "like hell his heart is black--
Pursue him, boys, and scent his track,
If drunk or dead, we'll have him back,
This man of scum!"

Each took his mark, and hit a tree;
The battle's done!--all sober, we;
Huzza! we have the victory!
Then scamper'd home!

RETALIATION

A Marine Ode--1814

"Ye powers who rule the western gale
Not for the golden fleece we sail,
Nor yet on wild ambition's plan,
But vengeance gathers man with man.

For wrongs which wearied patience bore,
For slighted rules of legal war,
We rear our flag, our sails display,
And east north east explore our way.

Let some assert, ten thousand pounds
Would place our fleet on british grounds,
And urge us onward to saint James
To wrap his palaces in flames.

A motive of so mean a cast
Allures no mind, excites no breast;
From such reward we loathing turn
And would at such a proffer spurn.

No--to retaliate on the foe,
Free-will'd, we independent go,
Our ship well mann'd, in war's attire,
To light the skies with english fire.

November comes! tis time to sail,
The nights are long and brisk the gale,
And England, soon, the odds may prove
Between our hatred and our love."

ON THE LAUNCHING

Of the Seventy-four Gun Ship _Independence_,[211] at Charlestown, near Boston

Our trade to restore as it stood once before
We have launched a new ship from the stocks,
Her rate is our first, and her force will, we trust,
Be sufficient to humble the hawks;
The hawks of old England we mean, don't mistake,
Some harpies of England our prizes we'll make.

Independence her name, independent our minds,
And prepared for the toils of the sea,
We are ready to combat the waves and the winds,
And fight till the ocean is free:
Then, away to your stations, each man on our list
Who, when danger approaches, will never be miss'd.

In asserting our rights we have rather been slow
And patient till patience was tired;
We were plunder'd and press'd ere we ventur'd a blow
Till the world at our patience admired,
And language was held, of contempt and disgrace,
And Europe mis-call'd us a pitiful race.

Twas time to arise in the strength of our might
When Madison publish'd the war,
And many have thought that he would have been right
Had he published it three years before;
While France was unpester'd with traitors and knaves,
Nor Europe polluted with Wellington's slaves.

To arm for our country is never too late,
No fetters are yet on our feet;
Our hands are more free, and our hearts are as great
As the best in the enemy's fleet:
And look at the list of their navy, and think,
How many are left, to burn, capture, and sink!

Let the nations of Europe surrender the sea,
Or crouch at the foot of a throne;
In liberty's soil we have planted her tree,
And her rights will relinquish to none:
Then stand to your arms,
Then stand to your arms,
Then stand to your arms--half the battle is done!
And bravely accomplish what valor begun.

The day is approaching, a day not remote,
A day with impatience we hail,
When Decatur and Hull shall again be afloat,
And Bainbridge commission'd to sail;
To raise his blockades, will advance on the foe,
And bulwark with Bull to the bottom shall go.

On the waves of Lake Erie we show'd the old brag
We, too, could advance in a line,
And batter their frigates and humble their flag;
"I have met them," said Perry, "they're mine!"
And so, my dear boys, we can meet them again
On the waves of the sea, or the waves of Champlain.