Let toils ne'er discourage, nor dangers alarm.
For foes to your peace
Will ever increase,

If freedom and fame you should barter,
Let those rights be yours,
While nature endures,

For OMNIPOTENCE gave you the charter!" Then foes to our freedom we'll ever defy, Till the continent sinks, and the ocean is dry! THOMAS GREEN FESSENDEN.

Though there was to be no invasion to repel, the new navy was soon to win its spurs. On February 9, 1799, the Constellation, Captain Truxton, sighted the 36-gun frigate, Insurgente, off St. Kitts, in the West Indies, and promptly gave chase. The Frenchman was overhauled about the middle of the afternoon, and after a fierce engagement was forced to surrender. Two months later, Napoleon agreed to receive the American envoy "with the respect due a powerful nation," and all danger of

war was soon over.

TRUXTON'S VICTORY

[February 9, 1799]

WHEN Freedom, fair Freedom, her banner display'd,

Defying each foe whom her rights would invade,

Columbia's brave sons swore those rights to

maintain,

And o'er ocean and earth to establish her reign;

United they cry,

While that standard shall fly,
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready

To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.

Tho' Gallia through Europe has rushed like a flood,

And deluged the earth with an ocean of blood:

While by faction she's led, while she's governed by knaves,

We court not her smiles, and will ne'er be her slaves;

Her threats we defy,

While our standard shall fly,
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready

To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.

Tho' France with caprice dares our Statesmen upbraid,

A tribute demands, or sets bounds to our trade;

From our young rising Navy our thunderst shall roar,

And our Commerce extend to the earth's utmost shore.

Our cannon we'll ply,

While our standard shall fly;
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready

To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.

To know we're resolved, let them think on the hour,

When Truxton, brave Truxton off Nevis's shore,

His ship mann'd for battle, the standard unfurl'd,

And at the Insurgente defiance he hurled;
And his valiant tars cry,
While our standard shall fly,
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready

To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.

Each heart beat exulting, inspir'd by the

cause;

They fought for their country, their freedom and laws;

"T was on the 9th of February, at Montserrat we lay,

And there we spy'd the Insurgente just at the break of day,

We raised the orange and the blue,
To see if they our signals knew,
The Constellation and her crew
Of brave Yankee boys.

Then all hands were called to quarters, while we pursued in chase,

With well-prim'd guns, our tompions out, well spliced the main brace.

Soon to the French we did draw nigh,
Compelled to fight, they were, or fly,
The word was passed, "CONQUER OR
DIE,"

My brave Yankee boys.

Lord! our Cannons thunder'd with peals tremendous roar,

And death upon our bullets' wings that
drenched their decks with gore,
The blood did from their scuppers run,
Their chief exclaimed, "We are un-
done!"

Their flag they struck, the battle won,
By the brave Yankee boys.

Then to St. Kitts we steered, we bro't her safe in port,

The grand salute was fired and answered from the fort,

John Adams in full bumpers toast,
George Washington, Columbia's boast,
And now "the girl we love the most!"
My brave Yankee boys.

1813.

On December 14, 1799, George Washington died at Mount Vernon after an illness lasting only a few days. The funeral took place four days later, with only such ceremonials as the immediate neighborhood provided.

WASHINGTON'S MONUMENT

For him who sought his country's good
In plains of war, mid scenes of blood;
Who, in the dubious battle's fray,
Spent the warm noon of life's bright day,
That to a world he might secure
Rights that forever shall endure,

Rear the monument of fame!
Deathless is the hero's name.

For him, who, when the war was done,
And victory sure, and freedom won,
Left glory's theatre, the field,
The olive branch of peace to wield;
And proved, when at the helm of state,
Though great in war, in peace as great;
Rear the monument of fame!
Deathless is the hero's name!

For him, whose worth, though unexpress'd,
Lives cherish'd in each freeman's breast,
Whose name, to patriot souls so dear,
Time's latest children shall revere,
Whose brave achievements praised shall be,
While beats one breast for liberty;

Rear the monument of fame!
Deathless is the hero's name!

But why for him vain marbles raise?
Can the cold sculpture speak his praise?
Illustrious shade! we can proclaim
Our gratitude, but not thy fame.
Long as Columbia shall be free,
She lives a monument of thee;

And may she ever rise in fame,
To honor thy immortal name!

Since 1785 it had been necessary to protect American commerce from the Barbary corsairs by paying tribute, but their demands grew so exorbitant that war was at last declared against Tripoli, and a squadron dispatched to the Mediterranean. One of this squadron was the Philadelphia, which ran aground and was captured by the pirates on October 31, 1803. The ship was towed into the harbor of Tripoli and anchored under the guns of the fortress. On the night of February 15, 1804, a party of seventy-five, headed by Lieutenants Decatur and Lawrence and Midshipman Bainbridge, entered the harbor, boarded the Philadelphia, drove the Turkish crew overboard, set fire to the ship, and escaped without losing a man, having performed what Lord Nelson called "the most daring act of the age."

HOW WE BURNED THE PHILADELPHIA

[February 15, 1804]

By the beard of the Prophet the Bashaw swore
He would scourge us from the seas;
Yankees should trouble his soul no more
By the Prophet's beard the Bashaw swore,
Then lighted his hookah, and took his

ease,

And troubled his soul no more.

The moon was dim in the western sky, And a mist fell soft on the sea,

As we slipped away from the Siren brig And headed for Tripoli.

Behind us the hulk of the Siren lay,
Before us the empty night;
And when again we looked behind
The Siren was gone from our sight.

Nothing behind us, and nothing before, Only the silence and rain,

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As the jaws of the sea took hold of our bows And cast us up again.

Through the rain and the silence we stole along,

Cautious and stealthy and slow,

For we knew the waters were full of those Who might challenge the Mastico.

But nothing we saw till we saw the ghost
Of the ship we had come to see,
Her ghostly lights and her ghostly frame
Rolling uneasily.

And as we looked, the mist drew up
And the moon threw off her veil,
And we saw the ship in the pale moonlight,
Ghostly and drear and pale.

Then spoke Decatur low and said:

"To the bulwarks' shadow all! But the six who wear the Tripoli dress Shall answer the sentinel's call."

"What ship is that?" cried the sentinel. "No ship," was the answer free; "But only a Malta ketch in distress Wanting to moor in your lee.

"We have lost our anchor, and wait for day To sail into Tripoli town,

And the sea rolls fierce and high to-night,
So cast a cable down."

Then close to the frigate's side we came,
Made fast to her unforbid ·

Six of us bold in the heathen dress,
The rest of us lying hid.

But one who saw us hiding there "Americano!" cried.

Then straight we rose and made a rush Pellmell up the frigate's side.

Less than a hundred men were we,

And the heathen were twenty score; But a Yankee sailor in those old days Liked odds of one to four.

And first we cleaned the quarter-deck,
And then from stern to stem
We charged into our enemies
And quickly slaughtered them.

All around was the dreadful sound
Of corpses striking the sea,
And the awful shrieks of dying men
In their last agony.

The heathen fought like devils all,
But one by one they fell,
Swept from the deck by our cutlasses
To the water, and so to hell.

Some we found in the black of the hold,
Some to the fo'c's'le fled,

But all in vain; we sought them out
And left them lying dead;

Till at last no soul but Christian souls
Upon that ship was found;
The twenty score were dead, and we,
The hundred, safe and sound.

And, stumbling over the tangled dead, The deck a crimson tide,

We fired the ship from keel to shrouds And tumbled over the side.

Then out to sea we sailed once more
With the world as light as day,

And the flames revealed a hundred sail
Of the heathen there in the bay.

All suddenly the red light paled,

And the rain rang out on the sea; Then a dazzling flash, a deafening roar, Between us and Tripoli!

Then, nothing behind us, and nothing before,

Only the silence and rain;

And the jaws of the sea took hold of our bows

And cast us up again.

By the beard of the Prophet the Bashaw swore He would scourge us from the seas; Yankees should trouble his soul no more

Of the lofty Turkish galley and in battle broke his sword.

Then the pirate captain smote him, till his blood was running fast,

And they grappled and they struggled, and they fell beside the mast.

Close behind him Reuben battled with a dozen, undismayed,

Till a bullet broke his sword-arm, and he dropped the useless blade.

Then a swinging Turkish sabre clove his left and brought him low,

Like a gallant bark, dismasted, at the mercy of the foe.

Little mercy knows the corsair: high his blade was raised to slay,

When a richer prize allured him where Decatur struggling lay.

"Help!" the Turkish leader shouted, and his

trusty comrade sprung,

And his scimetar like lightning o'er the Yankee captain swung.

Reuben James, disabled, armless, saw the sabre flashed on high,

Saw Decatur shrink before it, heard the pirate's taunting cry,

Saw, in half the time I tell it, how a sailor brave and true

Still might show a bloody pirate what a dying man can do.

Quick he struggled, stumbling, sliding in the blood around his feet,

As the Turk a moment waited to make vengeance doubly sweet.

Swift the sabre fell, but swifter bent the sailor's head below,

And upon his 'fenceless forehead Reuben James received the blow!

In the spring of 1808 the schooner Betsy, of Marblehead, commanded by "Skipper Ireson," sighted a wreck while passing Cape Cod on her way home from the West Indies. It was dark at the time, and the sea was running high, so that she was unable to render any assistance. Another vessel soon afterwards rescued the people on the wreck, and they reached shore in season for news of the occurrence to reach Marblehead before the Betsy's arrival. A crowd met the vessel at the wharf, and the sailors, when called to account, protested that Ireson would not let them go to the relief of the wrecked vessel. The mob thereupon seized the unfortunate skipper, and putting him into an old dory, started to drag him to Beverly, where they said he belonged, in order to show him to his own people.

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Witch astride of a human back,
Islam's prophet on Al-Borák, -
The strangest ride that ever was sped
Was Ireson's out from Marblehead!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a
cart

By the women of Marblehead!

Body of turkey, head of fowl,
Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,
Feathered and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.
Scores of women, old and young,
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,
Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,
Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,
Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase
Bacchus round some antique vase,
Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,
With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns'
twang,

Over and over the Mænads sang:

"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Small pity for him! He sailed away
From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay, -
Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
With his own town's-people on her deck!
"Lay by! lay by!" they called to him.
Back he answered, "Sink or swim!
Brag of your catch of fish again!"
And off he sailed through the fog and rain!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a

cart

By the women of Marblehead!

Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur
That wreck shall lie forevermore.
Mother and sister, wife and maid,
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead
Over the moaning and rainy sea,
Looked for the coming that might not be!
What did the winds and the sea-birds say
Of the cruel captain who sailed away?