The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 30

[212] The _Freeman's Journal_ of April 24 and May 1, 1782, gives full details of the Huddy affair. I can do no better than to quote Freneau's own version of the episode contributed to the _Journal_ for June 12:

"Capt. Huddy, of the Jersey militia, was attacked in a small fort on Tom's river, by a party of refugees in the British pay and service, was made prisoner, together with his company, carried to New York, and lodged in the provost of that city; about three weeks after which, he was taken out of the provost down to the water side, put into a boat and brought again to the Jersey sh.o.r.e, and there, contrary to the practice of all nations but savages, was hung up on a tree [April 8, 1782] and left hanging until found by our people, who took him down and buried him.

"The inhabitants of that part of the country where the murder was committed, sent a deputation to general Washington, with a full and certified state of the fact. Struck as every human breast must be, with such outrage, and determined both to punish and prevent it for the future, the general represented the case to general Clinton, who then commanded, and demanded that the refugee officer who ordered and attended the execution, and whose name is Lippencut, should be delivered up as a murderer, and in case of refusal that the person of some British officer should suffer in his stead. The demand, though not refused, has not been complied with, and the melancholy lot (not by selection, but by casting lots) has fallen upon captain Asgil of the guards, who, as I have already mentioned, is on his way from Lancaster to camp, a martyr to the general wickedness of the cause he engaged in, and the ingrat.i.tude of those he has served."

Asgill was finally released.

NEW YEAR'S VERSES

Addressed to those Gentlemen who have been pleased to favour FRANCIS WRIGLEY, News Carrier, with their custom

January 1, 1783

According to custom, once more I appear With the verse you expect at the dawn of the year: For at length we have got into Eighty and Three; And in spite of proud Britain, are happy and free.

If the times have been hard, and our commerce gone wrong, We still have been able to struggle along.

If some, through misfortunes, are slack in the purse, It is not so bad but it might have been worse.

Great things, the year past, were reveal'd to our eyes: The Dutch have confess'd us their friends and allies; And humbled the pride of our haughty invaders, By fighting their fleets and destroying their traders, If the English succeeded in taking the Count, To what, in the end, did their conquest amount?

With their boasts, and their brags, and their shouts of applause, It but sav'd them from ruin--not ruin'd our cause.

But leaving the weight of political cares To those, who are plac'd at the helm of affairs, To the humours of fortune in all things resign'd, I mean by my visit to put you in mind, That, as true as a clock, both early and late, With the news of the day I have knock'd at your gate, And gave you to know what the world was a doing, What Louis intended, or George was a brewing.

If sometimes the papers were trifling and flat, And the news went against us,--I cou'dn't help that; If parties were angry, and vented their spite, I bro't you their wranglings--not help'd them to write.

I therefore presume (and not without reason) You'll remember your Newsman, and think of the season; The markets are high, and the weather is cold; No party I serve, and no pension I hold.

We Hawkers are men, and have children and wives To comfort our hearts, and to solace our lives: But if I say more, you'll think it is stuff; And a word to the wise is, in reason, enough.

NEW YEAR'S VERSES[213]

Addressed to the Customers of the FREEMAN'S JOURNAL, by the Lad who carries it

January 8, 1783

Let those who will, in hackney'd rhyme And common cant, take up your time, And even the muse's aid implore To tell you what you knew before, The days are short and nights are long, The weather cold and hunger strong, The markets high--and such like stuff-- I'm sure you know it well enough;-- Untaught by us, I dare to say, You hit, exactly, New Year's day, And knew at least as well as we The present year is eighty-three;-- (Such simple things as these to tell A mere drum head would do as well--) All this I knew you knew before, And therefore knock'd not at your door Upon the individual day When eighty-three came into play, With verses for the purpose plann'd Bidding you gravely watch your sand, Since death is always near at hand; All this I left to those whose trade is To threaten beaus and frighten ladies, And brought my papers, (swiftly speeding) The _Freeman's Journal_, for your reading.

Unhappy Journal, doom'd by fate To meet with unrelenting hate, From those who can their venom spit, Yet condescend to steal your wit; While Timon, with malicious spirit, Allows you not a grain of merit, While he an idle pomp a.s.sumes Let him return his borrow'd plumes, And you will find the insect creeping With not a feather worth the keeping.

But this is neither here nor there, May quarrels past dissolve in air; In Stygian waves of sable hue Be all absorb'd with Eighty-Two, Or, lost on Lethe's silent sh.o.r.e, Disgrace our rising State no more.

Another word I meant to say, (Kind customers, have patience, pray, My subject is the New Year's Day) How came it that mistaken man Has thus inverted nature's plan, And contradicted common reason By making this the mirthful season, When all is dreary, dull, and dead, The sun to southern climates fled To dart his fierce and downright beams Intensely on Brazilian streams; No daisies on the frozen plain, No daffodils to please the swain, The limpid wave compell'd to freeze, And not a leaf upon the trees!-- 'Tis wrong--the very birds will say, Their New Year is the bloom of May; Then nature calls to soft delights, And they obey as she invites.

And yet this happiness below, Which all would gain but few know how, Is not to time or place confin'd, 'Tis seated only in the mind; Let seasons vary as they will, Contentment leaves us happy still, Makes life itself pa.s.s smooth away, Makes every hour a New Year's day.

[213] Text of this and the preceding poem from the edition of 1786. The last twenty-four lines of the above were republished in the edition of 1795, under the t.i.tle "On the New-Year's Festival."

POLITICAL BIOGRAPHY[214]

HUGH GAINE'S LIFE[A]

CITY OF NEW-YORK, JAN. 1, 1783.[B]

_To the_ Senate[C] _of York, with all due submission, Of honest_ HUGH GAINE _the humble Pet.i.tion;[215]

An account of his Life he will also prefix, And some trifles that happened in_ seventy-six; _He hopes that your Honours will take no offence, If he sends you some groans of contrition from hence, And, further, to prove that he's truly sincere, He wishes you all a_ happy New Year.

[A] A character well remembered in New York, and the adjacent States,--now deceased.--_Freneau's note._ Gaine died April 25, 1807.

[B] The British army evacuated New York the November following.--_Ib._

[C] The Legislature of the State were at this time in session at Fishkill.--_Ib._

And, first, he informs, in his representation, That he once was a printer of good reputation, And dwelt in the street called Hanover Square, (You'll know where it is, if you ever was there) Next door to the dwelling[216] of doctor Brownjohn, (Who now to the drug-shop[217] of Pluto is gone) But what do I say--who e'er came to town, And knew not Hugh Gaine at the Bible and Crown.

Now, if I was ever so given to lie, My dear native country I wouldn't deny; (I know you love Teagues) and I shall not conceal That I came from the kingdom where Phelim O'Neale And other brave worthies ate b.u.t.ter and cheese, And walk'd in the clover-fields up to their knees; Full early in youth, without basket or burden, With a staff in my hand, I pa.s.sed over Jordan, (I remember my comrade was doctor Magraw,[D]

And many strange things on the waters we saw, Sharks, dolphins, and sea-dogs, bonettas, and whales, And birds at the tropic, with quills in their tails) And came to your city and government seat, And found it was true you had something to eat; When thus I wrote home--"The country is good, "They have plenty of victuals and plenty of wood: "The people are kind, and, whatever they think, "I shall make it appear, I can swim where they'll sink; "Dear me! they're so brisk, and so full of good cheer, "By my soul, I suspect they have always new year, "And therefore conceive it is good to be here."

So said, and so acted--I put up a press, And printed away with amazing success; Neglected my person, and looked like a fright, Was bothered all day, and was busy all night, Saw money come in, as the papers went out, While Parker and Weyman[E] were driving about, And cursing and swearing, and chewing their cuds, And wishing Hugh Gaine and his press in the suds: Ned Weyman was printer, you know to the king, And thought he had got all the world in a string, (Though riches not always attend on a throne) So he swore I had found the philosopher's stone, And called me a rogue, and a son of a b.i.t.c.h, Because I knew better than him to get rich.

To malice like that 'twas in vain to reply-- You had known by his looks he was telling a lie.

Thus life ran away, so smooth and serene-- Ah! these were the happiest days I had seen!

But the saying of Jacob I found to be true, "The days of thy servant are evil and few!"

The days that to me were joyous and glad, Are nothing to those which are dreary and sad!

The feuds of the Stamp Act foreboded foul weather, And war and vexation all coming together: Those days were the days of riots and mobs, Tar, feathers, and tories, and troublesome jobs-- Priests preaching up war for the good of our souls, And libels, and lying, and Liberty poles, From which, when some whimsical colours you waved, We had nothing to do, but look up and be saved-- (You thought, by resolving, to terrify Britain-- Indeed, if you did, you were d.a.m.nably bitten) I knew it would bring an eternal reproach, When I saw you a-burning Cadwallader's[F] coach; I knew you would suffer for what you had done, When I saw you lampooning poor Sawney his son, And bringing him down to so wretched a level, As to ride him about in a cart with the devil.

[D] A cynical and very eccentric Physician.--_Freneau's note._

[E] New York Printers, many years before the Revolution.--_Ib._ Parker and Weyman were in partnership in the printing business between the years 1753 and 1759, during which time they were the leading printers of New York.

[F] Lieutenant-Governor Cadwallader Colden.--_Ib._

Well, as I predicted that matters would be-- To the stamp-act succeeded a tax upon Tea: What chest-fulls were scattered, and trampled, and drowned, And yet the whole tax was but threepence per pound!

May the hammer of Death on my noddle descend, And Satan torment me to time without end, If this was a reason to fly into quarrels, And feuds that have ruined our manners and morals; A parson himself might have sworn round the compa.s.s, That folks for a trifle should make such a rumpus, Such a rout as to set half the world in a rage, Make France, Spain, and Holland with Britain engage, While the Emperor, the Swede, the Russ, and the Dane, All pity John Bull--and run off with his gain.

But this was the season that I must lament-- I first was a whig with an honest intent; Not a Yankee[218] among them talked louder or bolder, With his sword by his side, or his gun on his shoulder; Yes, I was a whig, and a whig from my heart, But still was unwilling with Britain to part-- I thought to oppose her was foolish and vain, I thought she would turn and embrace us again, And make us as happy as happy could be, By renewing the aera of mild Sixty-Three: And yet, like a cruel, undutiful son, Who evil returns for the good to be done, Unmerited odium on Britain to throw,[219]

I printed some treason for Philip Freneau, Some d.a.m.nable poems reflecting on Gage,[220]

The King and his Council, and writ with such rage, So full of invective, and loaded with spleen, So sneeringly smart, and so h.e.l.lishly keen, That, at least in the judgment of half our wise men, Alecto herself put the nib to his pen.

At this time arose a certain king Sears,[221]

Who made it his study to banish our fears: He was, without doubt, a person of merit, Great knowledge, some wit, and abundance of spirit; Could talk like a lawyer, and that without fee, And threatened perdition to all that drank tea.

Long sermons did he against Scotchmen prepare,[222]

And drank like a German, and drove away care; Ah! don't you remember what a vigorous hand he put To drag off the great guns, and plague captain Vandeput.[G]

That night[H] when the Hero (his patience worn out) Put fire to the cannons and folks to the rout, And drew up his ship with a spring on her cable, And gave us a second confusion of Babel, And (what was more solid than scurrilous language) Poured on us a tempest of round shot and langrage; Scarce a broadside was ended 'till another began again --By Jove! it was nothing but _Fire away Flanagan!_[I]

Some thought him saluting his Sally's and Nancy's,[223]

'Till he drove a huge ball through the roof of Sam Francis;[J]

The town by his flashes was fairly enlightened, The women miscarried, the beaux were all frighten'd; For my part, I hid in a cellar (as sages And Christians were wont in the primitive ages: Thus the Prophet of old that was wrapt to the sky, Lay snug in a cave 'till the tempest went by, But, as soon as the comforting spirit had spoke, He rose and came out with his mystical cloak) Yet I hardly could boast of a moment of rest, The dogs were a-howling, the town was distrest!