IN MEMORY OF THE Truly Loyall, and Valiant Capt. John George.
Late Commander of Their Majesties Frigatt the
Rose. Being a Full and True Relation of a Bloody Fight betwixt the said Frigatt and a
Frenchman of War to the Eastward of
Cape Sables, Latitude 41 and 50. On Saturday the 24th. of
May. 1690.
In a Voyage from
New-England in Company with 2 Mast Ships, to whom the
Rose-Frigat was Convoy.
ARe all Pens silent, is there none to tell
How the Brave
George near
Sables-Island fell?
Why such Ingratitude? his Merit's much
Better deserve, then thus a Verse to grutch
In memory of him, who for to save
His King's and Countries honour, found a Grave
In deepest Seas, yet shall his Memory,
Not thus be buried in obscurity.
Nor shall base—
Bostoners, curst Sons of
Cham,
Who with false lyes, and tales mankind would sham
E're blast thy Glory, though their black mouth's said,
Thy Ship and Men, were to the
French betray'd.
Say then my Muse, and faithfully relate
The time, and cause that usher'd in his fate.
Near twice Ten years, betrusted with Commands
In Warlike Ships, in midst of Armed Bands
On all occasions he his Country serv'd,
And from the Post of danger never swerv'd;
Always a Victor, and by Heaven's decree
Preserv'd till this his finall destiny.
'Twas near th'
Americ strand when twice 12 days
The Glorious Sun had guilded with his Rays
Fair
Maia's bosome. In the Frigot
Rose
Ploughing the Ocean to seek out his foes,
And save his Convoy-Fleet, anon appears
A Lusty
French Ship, after her he stears.
Twenty odd Guns on either side hawl'd out
Seamen and Soldiers full four hundred stout.
The
Rose a Fifth Rate, not full thirty Guns,
Sixscore brave Lads, burthen 3 hundred Tuns.
And when in Call demands, whence your ship, hoy?
The
Frenchman cry'd, me tell you by and by
Strike to the
King of France then forthwith cry'd
No, no,
Monsieur, we'l first well bang your hide,
Cry'd Valiant
George, nor shall it e're be told
To
England's King his Ship so cheap I sold.
Scarce said, when thund'ring Eccho's pierce the sky
From
English Marriners, who
French defy.
Shrill Trumpets, and loud Drums do now invite
The dull and timorous to a bloody Fight:
Then thundring Cannons mixt with Fire and smoak
Send pondrous balls, piercing well-season'd Oak,
Which in their passage to the briny deeps
Numbers of souls lull in Eternal sleeps,
From the Main-topps and quarter-Decks like hail
In showers of Lead, each other now assail:
Now might you see the Rigging cut in twain
And nimble fingers splicing it again.
Ten thousand splinters from all quarters fly,
The sayls hard Bullets pierce then pass toth' sky:
Some spunge the Guns, others dire powder bear,
Loading with chain-shot is anothers care:
All bent to kill, or take, or burn, or both,
No Room is left for Cowardice or sloath.
The Curled Ensigns now are cut in twain,
Streight,
[...]aring Sailers put them up again.
And now th' affrighted fishes from the Deep
Their Scaly heads advancing up, do peep,
Above the waves, displeas'd at such distresses,
Amaz'd, return to their unknown recesses;
Mean while the Combatants with clamours fill
Heavens cieled Arch in crying out, kill, kill.
Then dying groans, with shouts commi
[...] are heard,
And from the scoopers flowing blood appear'd.
Thus for some time the success doubtfull was,
When from the Main-top (oh! wo and alas!)
Some Common hand a Cursed ball did send,
Which brought the Noble
George unto his end:
Fixt in his Breast, out goes his fleeting Soul,
Whilst in his hearts-blood, his pale Corps doth Rowl:
Yet e're he went to the
Elizium shade,
To his next Friends breathing his last he said,
God bless you all, I dye, I'me ill all o're,
You're
[...] a good Cause, play the Men therefore.
Stout
Wiggoner the Ships chief Master fell,
With sundry more of whom if I should tell,
Too large would be the Theme, let it content
I'th' Be
[...] of honour, they their dear lives spent.
Here should I end, salt tears bids stay my Pen,
But Common Justice prompts me on again,
To speak of Valiant
Condon, and his Merits,
Since he the Captains place duly Inherits.
The sword strait he advancing, doth cry out,
Brave Lads fight on, we'le have the other bout.
Your late Commander's dead
(brave George) 'tis true,
My life against the Foe I'le spend with you;
Do but your parts, we'le make the
Monsieur run,
Or Rost his hide, e're it be set of Sun.
Fresh Courage now revives in every breast,
Scorning to think of life or Interest:
Near one hour more they thump't the
Frenchmans hide,
Such sort of treatment he could not abide.
His First, and Second in our view did fall,
His Ports were made as wide as door in Hall;
His Main-yard shot, his Men like Pidgeons fell,
From the Main-top; In death's Embraces dwell
Some hundreds more: for in our view we saw
From bloudy decks they their dead Men did draw.
But that the Poet may not Merit blame,
For he (as well as others) hath some shame.
It must not be forgot how Valiant
Capt.
Ben. Clark of
Wappin in the
Europian of
London, a Mast-Ship.
ClarkWith his ten Guns did prove a gallant spark,
And though desired forth with to fall astern,
And safe from blows himself no more concern
In Bloudy Combat, scorn'd to be dismay'd,
Hawl up the Main sail to his Men he said;
And from the quarter-Deck waving on high
His glittering sword the
Frenchman did defy:
Come if you dare (he cry'd) we're ready for ye,
We'le bang your Jacket, or I should be sorry.
Stand by your Guns, it never shall be told
To my disgrace in
England—New—or old
I fear'd a
Frenchman, or would e're permit
My Captain to be wrong'd I feeing it:
Fire on his quarter, you will
[...]ach him now,
Place that great Gun exact against his Bough,
Ply well your small shot, let's do all we can,
What is the least, is not the worst of man.
Thus giving, and receiving on it goes,
Till the poor
Monsieur thresh'd with heavy blows
Found he'de too much on't, strait about he wheels,
Finding his hands not half so good as heels.
FINIS.
LONDON, Printed and sold by most Booksellers of London and Westminster.