The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume I Part 51

ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN NICHOLAS BIDDLE[170]

Commander of the _Randolph_ Frigate, Blown up near Barbadoes, 1776

What distant thunders rend the skies, What clouds of smoke in columns rise, What means this dreadful roar?

Is from his base Vesuvius thrown, Is sky-topt Atlas tumbled down, Or Etna's self no more!

Shock after shock torments my ear; And lo!--two hostile ships appear, Red lightnings round them glow: The _Yarmouth_ boasts of sixty-four, The _Randolph_ thirty-two--no more-- And will she fight this foe!

The _Randolph_ soon on Stygian streams Shall coast along the land of dreams, The islands of the dead!

But Fate, that parts them on the deep, May save the Briton yet to weep His days of victory fled.[171]

Say, who commands that dismal blaze, Where yonder starry streamer plays?

Does Mars with Jove engage!

'Tis Biddle wings those angry fires, Biddle, whose bosom Jove inspires, With more than mortal rage.

Tremendous flash!--and hark, the ball Drives through old _Yarmouth,_ flames and all; Her bravest sons expire; Did Mars himself approach so nigh, Even Mars, without disgrace, might fly The _Randolph's_ fiercer fire.

The Briton views his mangled crew, "And shall we strike to thirty-two?-- (Said Hector, stained with gore) "Shall Britain's flag to these descend-- "Rise, and the glorious conflict end, "Britons, I ask no more!"

He spoke--they charged their cannon round, Again the vaulted heavens resound, The _Randolph_ bore it all, Then fixed her pointed cannons true-- Away the unwieldy vengeance flew; Britain, thy warriors fall.

The _Yarmouth_ saw, with dire dismay, Her wounded hull, shrouds shot away, Her boldest heroes dead-- She saw amidst her floating slain The conquering _Randolph_ stem the main-- She saw, she turned--and fled!

That hour, blest chief, had she been thine, Dear Biddle, had the powers divine Been kind as thou wert brave; But Fate, who doomed thee to expire, Prepared an arrow, tipt with fire, And marked a watery grave.

And in that hour, when conquest came, Winged at his ship a pointed flame, That not even he could shun-- The battle ceased, the _Yarmouth_ fled, The bursting _Randolph_ ruin spread, And left her task undone![172]

[170] This poem was first published as a pamphlet in 1781, by Francis Bailey of Philadelphia, in connection with "The Prison Ship."

Nicholas Biddle, born in Philadelphia in 1750, was a sailor from his boyhood. At one time he served beside Nelson in the British navy. In 1776, when the new frigate _Randolph_, of thirty-two guns, was launched at Philadelphia, he was made commander, and after several unimportant cruises he was placed over a small fleet of war vessels, with the _Randolph_ as flagship. In March, 1779, he fell in with the British ship _Yarmouth_, and after a vigorous action of twenty minutes, the _Randolph_ was blown up by her own magazine, only four men escaping with their lives.

Freneau has made several minor errors. The date 1776, which is found on all the versions of the poem, should manifestly be 1779. The _Yarmouth_ did not attempt flight, nor did Biddle die at the moment of victory, as the poet represents. In the words of Cooper, "Victory was almost hopeless, even had all his vessels behaved equally well with his own ship." Captain Vincent had only five men killed and twelve wounded at the time of the explosion, yet the gallantry and skill of Biddle in the face of great odds justify all the praise that Freneau gives him.

[171] "His ancient honours fled."--_Ed. 1786._ This stanza was omitted from the 1795 edition, but returned again in 1809.

[172] "And lost what honour won."--_Ed. 1786._ "And lost what courage won."--_Ed. 1795._

CAPTAIN JONES'S INVITATION[173]

Thou, who on some dark mountain's brow Hast toil'd thy life away till now, And often from that rugged steep Beheld the vast extended deep, Come from thy forest, and with me Learn what it is to go to sea.

There endless plains the eye surveys As far from land the vessel strays; No longer hill nor dale is seen, The realms of death intrude between, But fear no ill; resolve, with me To share the dangers of the sea.

But look not there for verdant fields-- Far different prospects Neptune yields; Green seas shall only greet the eye, Those seas encircled by the sky.

Immense and deep--come then with me And view the wonders of the sea.

Yet sometimes groves and meadows gay Delight the seamen on their way; From the deep seas that round us swell With rocks the surges to repel Some verdant isle, by waves embrac'd, Swells, to adorn the wat'ry waste.

Though now this vast expanse appear With gla.s.sy surface, calm and clear; Be not deceiv'd--'tis but a show, For many a corpse is laid below-- Even Britain's lads--it cannot be-- They were the masters of the sea!

Now combating upon the brine, Where ships in flaming squadrons join, At every blast the brave expire 'Midst clouds of smoke, and streams of fire; But scorn all fear; advance with me-- 'Tis but the custom of the sea.

Now we the peaceful wave divide, On broken surges now we ride, Now every eye dissolves with woe As on some lee-ward coast we go-- Half lost, half buried in the main Hope scarcely beams on life again.

Above us storms distract the sky, Beneath us depths unfathom'd lie, Too near we see, a ghastly sight,[174]

The realms of everlasting night, A wat'ry tomb of ocean green And only one frail plank between!

But winds must cease, and storms decay, Not always lasts the gloomy day, Again the skies are warm and clear, Again soft zephyrs fan the air, Again we find the long lost sh.o.r.e, The winds oppose our wish no more.

If thou hast courage to despise The various changes of the skies, To disregard the ocean's rage, Unmov'd when hostile ships engage, Come from thy forest, and with me Learn what it is to go to sea.

[173] From the 1786 edition. In the 1795 edition the t.i.tle was changed to "The Invitation."

Captain John Paul Jones sailed from Isle de Groaix, France, on his memorable cruise, August 14, 1779. To secure a crew for his fleet had been the work of many months.

[174] "Disheartening sight."--_Ed. 1795._

THE SEA VOYAGE[175]

From a gay island green and fair, With gentle blasts of southern air, Across the deep we held our way, Around our barque smooth waters played, No envious clouds obscur'd the day, Serene came on the evening shade.

Still farther to the north we drew, And Porto Rico's mountains blue, Were just decaying on the eye, When from the main arose the sun; Before his ray the shadows fly, As we before the breezes run.

Now northward of the tropic pa.s.s'd, The fickle skies grew black at last; The ruffian winds began to roar, The sea obey'd their tyrant force, And we, alas! too far from sh.o.r.e, Must now forsake our destin'd course.

The studding sails at last to hand, The vent'rous captain gave command; But scarcely to the task went they When a vast billow o'er us broke, And tore the sheets and tacks away, Nor could the booms sustain the stroke.

Still vaster rose the angry main.

The winds through every shroud complain; The topsails we could spread no more, Though doubly reef'd, the furious blast Away the fluttering canvas bore, And vow'd destruction to the mast.

When now the northern storm was quell'd, A calm ensued--but ocean swell'd Beyond the towering mountain's height, Till from the south new winds arose; Our sails we spread at dead of night, And fair, though fierce, the tempest blows.

When morning rose, the skies were clear The gentle breezes warm and fair, Convey'd us o'er the wat'ry road; A ship o'ertook us on the way, Her thousand sails were spread abroad, And flutter'd in the face of day.