William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
Loss of the Privateer Brigantine General ArmstrongPhilip Freneau (17521832)
T
And her actions of valour 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.
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!
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 alongside,
Destruction their motto, damnation their guide.
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 humour, perhaps in a fret,
And waited new orders from Plantagenet.
So near, that a pistol the castle would 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.
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 manœuvred 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;
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!
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 repelled them with pistols and pikes;
From her musketry fire
They by dozens expire:
And soon was the work of destruction complete,
And soon was determined their total defeat!
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!
“Don’t grieve, my good fellows,” he hail’d them, “I beg;
I, too, have my wounds—an ox trod on my leg!”
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 bark—
Nor need we remark
That she sunk on the sands by the beach of Fayal,
With her colours all flying—no colours could fall.
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.
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.