William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The Battle of Stonington
F
Freighted deep with fire and flame,
And other things we need not name,
To have a dash at Stonington.
They thought to make the Yankees run,
And have a mighty deal of fun
In stealing sheep at Stonington.
And parson Jones’s sermon read,
In which the reverend doctor said
That they must fight for Stonington.
To sundry resolutions penn’d,
By which they promised to defend
With sword and gun, old Stonington.
The Britons soon began to blaze,
And put the old women in amaze,
Who fear’d the loss of Stonington.
And made as though they little cared
For all that came—though very hard
The cannon play’d on Stonington.
Despatch came forward—bold and black,
And none can tell what kept them back
From setting fire to Stonington.
Soon made a farmer’s barrack fall,
And did a cow-house sadly maul
That stood a mile from Stonington.
Three hogs they wounded in a pen—
They dash’d away—and pray what then?
This was not taking Stonington.
But not a shell of all they threw,
Though every house was full in view,
Could burn a house at Stonington.
The Yankees brought two guns to bear,
And, sir, it would have made you stare,
This smoke of smokes at Stonington.
And kill’d and wounded of her crew
So many, that she bade adieu
To the gallant boys of Stonington.
So crippled, riddled, so forlorn,
No more she cast an eye of scorn
On the little fort at Stonington.
And, with her comrades, sneak’d away—
Such was the valour, on that day,
Of British tars near Stonington.
(Besides the damage and the wounds,)
It cost the king ten thousand pounds
To have a dash at Stonington.