He came, we thought, to murder, not to heal-- Hell in his heart, and mischief in his head,
He gloom'd destruction, and had smote us dead, Had he so dar'd--but fate with-held his hand-- He came--blasphem'd--and turn'd again to land. From this poor vessel, and her sickly crew
An English ruffian all his titles drew,
Captain, esquire, commander, too, in chief,
And hence he gain'd his bread, and hence his beef, But, sir, you might have search'd creation round Ere such another miscreant could be found-- Though unprovok'd, an angry face he bore,
We stood astonish'd at the oaths he swore; He swore, till every prisoner stood aghast, And thought him Satan in a brimstone blast; He wish'd us banish'd from the public light, He wish'd us shrouded in perpetual night! That were he king, no mercy would he show, But drive all rebels to the world below;
That if we scoundrels did not scrub the decks
His staff should break our damn'd rebellious necks;
He swore, besides, that if the ship took fire We too should in the pitchy flame expire; And meant it so--this tyrant, I engage,
Had lost his breath to gratify his rage.-- If where he walk'd a captive carcase lay,
Still dreadful was the language of the day--[Pg 37] He call'd us dogs, and would have us'd us so,
But vengeance check'd the meditated blow, The vengeance from our injur'd nation due To him, and all the base, unmanly crew.
Such food they sent, to make complete our woes, It look'd like carrion torn from hungry crows, Such vermin vile on every joint were seen,
So black, corrupted, mortified, and lean That once we try'd to move our flinty chief, And thus address'd him, holding up the beef: "See, captain, see! what rotten bones we pick, "What kills the healthy cannot cure the sick: "Not dogs on such by Christian men are fed, "And see, good master, see, what lousy bread!" "Your meat or bread (this man of flint replied) "Is not my care to manage or provide--
"But this, damn'd rebel dogs, I'd have you know, "That better than you merit we bestow;
"Out of my sight!"----nor more he deign'd to say, But whisk'd about, and frowning, strode away.
Each day, at least three carcases we bore,
And scratch'd them graves along the sandy shore; By feeble hands the shallow graves were made, No stone memorial o'er the corpses laid;
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In barren sands, and far from home, they lie, No friend to shed a tear, when passing by; O'er the mean tombs insulting Britons tread, Spurn at the sand, and curse the rebel dead. When to your arms these fatal islands fall, (For first or last they must be conquer'd all) Americans! to rites sepulchral just,
With gentlest footstep press this kindred dust, And o'er the tombs, if tombs can then be found,
Place the green turf, and plant the myrtle round.[Pg 38] Americans! a just resentment shew,
And glut revenge on this detested foe;
While the warm blood exults the glowing vein Still shall resentment in your bosoms reign, Can you forget the greedy Briton's ire,
Your fields in ruin, and your domes on fire, No age, no sex from lust and murder free, And, black as night, the hell born refugee! Must York forever your best blood entomb,
And these gorg'd monsters triumph in their doom, Who leave no art of cruelty untry'd;
Such heavy vengeance, and such hellish pride! Death has no charms--his realms dejected lie In the dull climate of a clouded sky;
Death has no charms, except in British eyes,
See, arm'd for death, the infernal miscreants rise; See how they pant to stain the world with gore, And millions murder'd, still would murder more; This selfish race, from all the world disjoin'd, Perpetual discord spread throughout mankind, Aim to extend their empire o'er the ball,
Subject, destroy, absorb, and conquer all,
As if the power that form'd us did condemn
All other nations to be slaves to them--
Rouse from your sleep, and crush the thievish band, Defeat, destroy, and sweep them from the land, Ally'd like you, what madness to despair,
Attack the ruffians while they linger there;
There Tryon sits, a monster all complete,
See Clinton there with vile Knyphausen meet, And every wretch whom honour should detest There finds a home--and Arnold with the rest. Ah! traitors, lost to every sense of shame, Unjust supporters of a tyrant's claim;
Foes to the rights of freedom and of men,
Flush'd with the blood of thousands you have slain, To the just doom the righteous skies decree
We leave you, toiling still in cruelty,
Or on dark plans in future herds to meet,
Plans form'd in hell, and projects half complete: The years approach that shall to ruin bring
Your lords, your chiefs, your miscreant of a king, Whose murderous acts shall stamp his name accurs'd, And his last triumphs more than damn the first.
[26] First published in Philadelphia, by Francis Bailey, in 1781. Freneau wrote the poem during the summer of 1780, immediately after his exchange. The original manuscript is in the possession of Miss Adele M. Sweeney, a great-granddaughter of the poet. The text follows the edition of 1786.
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On May 25, 1780, Freneau, in the ship Aurora, started from Philadelphia as a passenger for Santa Cruz. The next day, while off Cape Henlopen, the ship was captured by the British frigate Iris, Capt. Hawkes, and the crew and passengers sent to New York as prisoners. For Freneau's account of his capture and captivity, see Some Account of the Capture of the Ship Aurora, 1899.
[27] Freneau was placed on board the Scorpion, June 1, and was exchanged July 12, 1780.
[28] "The weather was very stormy and the river uncommonly rough. The ship rolled considerably, and the water gushed into some of the lower ports, which made some of the landsmen who slept in the cable tier imagine she was sinking. In a moment the alarm became general. 'The ship is sinking! the ship is sinking!' was echoed fore and aft. I expected every moment to feel myself afloat
in the berth where I lay; but at the same time considering it would be a folly to drown between decks when I perhaps might get on shore somehow, I jumped up and hurried toward the main hatchway, where a multitude was endeavouring to get out; the sentries at the same time beating on their heads with their drawn swords and marquets without mercy.... Some lamented that they should never see their wives and children again; others begged by the love of God to be let upon deck and they would bind themselves slaves forever on board a man-of-war, or any other service.... After some trouble we got a light, and examining the pump-well, found the ship dry and tight."--Freneau's Journal.
[29] "One, Gauzoo, was steward of the ship--one of the most brutal of mankind, who abused us continually. It is impossible for words to give his character; it seemed as though he could not give any of us a civil word upon the most indifferent occasion. When he was not cursing us, he kept in his cabin in gloomy reserve, the most vile and detestable of mortals."--Freneau's Journal.
[30] "At sundown we were ordered down between the decks, to the number of nearly three hundred of us. The best lodgings I could procure this night was on a chest, almost suffocated with the heat and stench. I expected to die before morning, but human nature can bear more than one would at first suppose."--Freneau's Journal.
[31] "The Hunter had been very newly put to the use of a hospital-ship. She was miserably dirty and cluttered. Her decks leaked to such a degree that the sick were deluged with every shower of rain. Between decks they lay along struggling in the agonies of death; dying with putrid and bilious fevers; lamenting their hard fate to die at such a fatal distance from their friends; others totally insensible, and yielding their last breath in all the horrors of light-headed