Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.

Battle of Plattsburg

SIR GEORGE PREVOST, with all his host,

March’d forth from Montreal, sir,

Both he and they as blithe and gay

As going to a ball, sir.

The troops he chose were all of those

That conquer’d Marshal Soult, sir;

Who at Garonne (the fact is known)

Scarce brought them to a halt, sir.

With troops like these, he thought with ease

To crush the Yankee faction:

His only thought was how he ought

To bring them into action.

“Your very names,” Sir George exclaims,

“Without a gun or bayonet,

Will pierce like darts through Yankee hearts,

And all their spirits stagnate.

“O! how I dread lest they have fled

And left their puny fort, sir,

For sure Macomb won’t stay at home,

T’ afford us any sport, sir.

Good bye!” he said to those that stay’d:

“Keep close as mice or rats snug:

We’ll just run out upon a scout,

To burn the town of Plattsburg.”

Then up Champlain with might and main

He march’d, in dread array, sir;

With fife and drum to scare Macomb,

And drive him quite away, sir.

And, side by side, their nation’s pride

Along the current beat, sir:

Sworn not to sup till they ate up

M’Donough and his fleet, sir.

Still onward came these men of fame,

Resolved to give “no quarter:”

But to their cost found at last

That they had caught a Tartar.

At distant shot a while they fought,

By water and by land, sir:

His knightship ran from man to man,

And gave his dread command, sir.

“Britons, strike home! this dog Macomb—

So well the fellow knows us—

Will just as soon jump o’er the moon

As venture to oppose us.

With quick despatch light every match,

Man every gun and swivel,

Cross in a crack the Saranac,

And drive ’em to the devil.”

The Vermont ranks that lined the banks,

Then poised the unerring rifle,

And to oppose their haughty foes

They found a perfect trifle.

Meanwhile the fort kept up such sport,

They thought the devil was in it;

Their mighty train play’d off in vain—

’Twas silenced in a minute.

Sir George, amazed, so wildly gazed,

Such frantic gambols acted,

Of all his men, not one in ten

But thought him quite distracted.

He cursed and swore, his hair he tore,

Then jump’d upon his poney,

And gallopp’d off towards the bluff,

To look for Captain Downie.

But when he spied M’Donough ride,

In all the pomp of glory,

He hasten’d back to Saranac,

To tell the dismal story:

“My gallant crews—O! shocking news—

Are all or killed or taken!

Except a few that just withdrew

In time to save their bacon.

“Old England’s pride must now subside.

O! how the news will shock her,

To have her fleet not only beat,

But sent to Davy’s locker.

From this sad day let no one say

Britannia rules the ocean:

We’ve dearly bought the humbling thought,

That this is all a notion.

“With one to ten I’d fight ’gainst men,

But these are Satan’s legions,

With malice fraught, come piping hot

From Pluto’s darkest regions!

Helas! mon Dieu! what shall I do?

I smell the burning sulphur—

Set Britain’s isle all rank and file,

Such men would soon engulf her.

“That’s full as bad—O! I’ll run mad!

Those western hounds are summon’d;

Gaines, Scott, and Brown are coming down,

To serve me just like Drummond.

Thick, too, as bees, the Vermontese

Are swarming to the lake, sir;

And Izard’s men, come back again,

Lie hid in every brake, sir.

“Good Brisbane, beat a quick retreat,

Before their forces join, sir:

For, sure as fate, they’ve laid a bait

To catch us like Burgoyne, sir.

All round about, keep good look out:

We’ll surely be surrounded.

Since I could crawl, my gallant soul

Was never so astounded.”

The rout began, Sir George, led on,

His men ran helter skelter,

Each tried his best t’ out-run the rest

To gain a place of shelter;

To hide their fear they gave a cheer,

And thought it mighty cunning—

He’ll fight say they, another day,

Who saves himself by running!