We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touched,
My captain lashed fast with his own hands.
We had received some eighteen-pound shots under the water,
On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire,
killing all around and blowing up overhead.
Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark,
Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain,
and five feet of water reported,
The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to
give them a chance for themselves.
The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels,
They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.
Our frigate takes fire,
The other asks if we demand quarter?
If our colours are struck and the fighting done?
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,
"We have not struck," he composedly cries, "we have just begun our part
of the fighting."
Only three guns are in use,
One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast,
Two well served with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear
his decks.
The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the
main-top,
They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.
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