Poems relating to the American Revolution / Philip Freneau ; with an introductory memoir and notes by Evert A. Duyckinck [electronic text]

POLITICAL BIOGRAPHY.

GAINE'S LIFE.

CITY OF NEW-YORK, Jan. 1, I783.* 1.1

TO the Senate† 1.2 of York, with all due submission, Of honest HUGH GAINE‡ 1.3 the humble Petition; 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.

I.

AND, first, he informs, in his representation, That he once was a printer of good reputation, And dwelt in the street call'd Hanover Square, (You'll know where it is, if you ever was there)

Next door to the dwelling of doctor Brownjohn, (Who now to the drug-shop 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 butter 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 pass'd over Jordan, (I remember my comrade was doctor Magraw,* 1.4 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, whate'er they may think, "I shall make it appear I can swim where they'll sink; "And yet 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 look'd like a fright, Was bother'd all day, and was busy all night, Saw money come in, as the papers went out, While Parker and Weyman* 1.5 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 call'd me a rogue, and a son of a bitch, 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've 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 wav'd, We had nothing to do, but look up and be sav'd — (You thought, by resolving, to terrify Britain — Indeed, if you did, you were damnably bitten) I knew it would bring an eternal reproach, When I saw you a-burning Cadwallader's* 1.6 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. —

II.

WELL, as I predicted that matters would be — To the stamp-act succeeded a tax upon Tea: What chest-fulls were scatter'd, and trampled, and drown'd, And yet the whole tax was but three pence 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 ruin'd our manners and morals; A parson himself might have sworn round the compass,

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 Rebel among them talk'd 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 happy as happy could be, By renewing the æra 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, I printed some treason for PHILIP FRENEAU, Some damnable poems reflecting on GAGE, The KING and his COUNCIL, and writ with such rage, So full of invective, and loaded with spleen, So sneeringly smart, and so hellishly keen, That, at least in the judgment of half our wise men, ALECTO herself put the nib to his pen.

III.

AT this time arose a certain king SEARS,* 1.7 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 threaten'd perdition to all that drank TEA. Long sermons did he against Scotchmen prepare, 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? That night when the HERO (his patience worn out) Put fire to his 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) Pour'd 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 Flannagan!* 1.8 Some thought him SALUTING his Sally's and Nancy's 'Till he drove a round shot thro' the roof of Sam Francis. The town by his flashes was fairly enlighten'd, The women miscarry'd, the beaus 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 rapt 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! — But our terrors soon vanish'd, for suddenly SEARS Renew'd our lost courage and dry'd up our tears.

Our memories, indeed, must have strangely decay'd If we cannot remember what SPEECHES he made, What handsome harangues upon every occasion, How he laugh'd at the whim of a British Invasion!

" P—x take 'em, (said he) do ye think they will come? "If they shou'd —we have only to beat on our drum, "And run up the flag of American freedom, "And people will muster by millions to bleed 'em! "What freeman need value such blackguards as these!

"Let us sink in our channel some Chevaux de frise — "And then let 'em come —and we'll show 'em fair play — "But they are not madmen —I tell you —not they!"

IV.

FROM this very day 'till the British came in, We liv'd, I may say, in the Desert of Sin; — Such beating, and bruising, and scratching, and tearing; Such kicking, and cuffing, and cursing, and swearing!—— But when they advanc'd with their numerous fleet, And WASHINGTON made his nocturnal retreat,* 1.9 (And which they permitted, I say, to their shame, Or else your NEW EMPIRE had been but a name) We townsmen, like women, of Britons in dread, Mistrusted their meaning, and foolishly fled; Like the rest of the dunces I mounted my steed, And gallop'd away with incredible speed, To NEWARK I hastened —but trouble and care Got up on the crupper and follow'd me there! There I scarcely got fuel to keep myself warm, And scarcely found spirits to weather the storm; And was quickly convinc'd I had little to do, (The Whigs were in arms, and my readers were few) So, after remaining one cold winter season, And stuffing my papers with something like treason, And meeting misfortunes and endless disasters, And forc'd to submit to a hundred new masters, I thought it more prudent to hold to the one —

And (after repenting of what I had done, And cursing my folly and idle pursuits) Return'd to the city, and hung up my boots.

V.

AS matters have gone, it was plainly a blunder, But then I expected the Whigs must knock under, And I always adhere to the sword that is longest, And stick to the party that's like to be strongest: That you have succeeded is merely a chance, I never once dreamt of the conduct of France! —

If alliance with her you were promis'd —at least You ought to have show'd me your STAR in the east, Not let me go off uninform'd as a beast.

When your army I saw without stockings or shoes, Or victuals —or money, to pay them their dues, (Excepting your wretched Congressional paper, That stunk in my nose like the snuff of a taper, A cart load of which for a dram might be spent all, That damnable bubble, the old Continental That took people in at this wonderful crisis, With its mottoes and emblems, and cunning devices; Which, bad as it was, you were forc'd to admire, And which was, in fact, the pillar of fire, To which you directed your wandering noses, Like the Jews in the desert conducted by MOSES) When I saw them attended with famine and fear, Distress in their front, and Howe in their rear; When I saw them for debt incessantly dunn'd,

Nor a shilling to pay them laid up in your fund; Your ploughs at a stand, and your ships run ashore — When this was apparent (and need I say more?) I handled my cane, and I look'd at my hat, And cry'd —"God have mercy on armies like that!"

I took up my bottle, disdaining to stay, And said —"Here's a health to the Vicar of Bray," And cock'd up my beaver, and —strutted away.

VI.

ASHAM'D of my conduct, I sneak'd into town, (Six hours and a quarter the sun had been down) It was, I remember, a cold frosty night, And the stars in the firmament glitter'd as bright As if (to assume a poetical stile) Old Vulcan had give them a rub with his file.

'Till this cursed night, I can honestly say, I ne'er before dreaded the dawn of the day; Not a wolf or a fox that is caught in a trap E'er was so asham'd of his nightly mishap — I couldn't help thinking what ills might befal me, What rebels and rascals the British would call me, And how I might suffer in credit and purse, If not in my person, which still had been worse: At length I resolv'd (as was surely my duty) To go for advice to parson AUCHMUTY:* 1.10

(The parson, who now I hope is in glory, Was then upon earth, and a terrible tory, Not COOPER himself, of ideas perplext, So nicely could handle and torture a text, When bloated with lies, thro' his trumpet he sounded The damnable sin of opposing a crown'd head) Like a penitent sinner, and dreading my fate, In the grey of the morning I knock'd at his gate; (No doubt he was vex'd that I rous'd him so soon, For his worship was mostly in blankets till noon.)

At length he approach'd in his vestments of black — (Alas, my poor heart! it was then on the rack, Like a man in an ague or one to be try'd; I shook —and recanted, and slobber'd, and sigh' d) His gown, of it self, was amazingly big, Besides, he had on his canonical wig,

And frown'd at a distance; but when he came near Look'd pleasant and said —"What, Hugh, are you here!

"Your heart, I am certain, is horribly harden'd, "But if you confess —your sin will be pardon'd; "In spite of my preachments, and all I could say, "Like the prodigal son, you wander'd away, "Now tell me, dear penitent, which is the best, "To be with the rebels, pursu'd and distrest, "Devoid of all comfort, all hopes of relief, "Or else to be here, and partake the king's beef?

"More people resemble the snake than the dove, "And more are converted by terror than love: "Like a sheep on the mountains, or rather a swine, "You wander'd away from the ninety and nine; "Awhile at the offers of mercy you spurn'd, "But your error you saw, and at length have return'd; "Our master will therefore consider your case, "And restore you again to favour and grace, "Great light shall arise from utter confusion, "And rebels shall live to lament their delusion."

"Ah, rebels! (said I) they are rebels indeed — "Chastisement, I hope, by the king is decreed: "They have hung up his subjects with bed-cords and halters, "And banish'd his Prophets, and thrown down his altars. "And I —even I —while I ventur'd to stay, "They sought for my life —to take it away! "I therefore propose to come under your wing, "A foe to REBELLION —a slave to the KING."

VII.

SUCH solemn confession, in scriptural style, Work'd out my salvation, at least for a while; The parson pronounc'd me deserving of grace, And so they restor'd me to Printing and Place.

VIII.

BUT days, such as these, were too happy to last; The sand of felicity settled too fast! When I swore and protested I honour'd the throne The least they could do was to let me alone: Though George I compar'd to an angel above, They wanted some solider proofs of my love; And so they oblig'd me each morning to come And turn in the ranks at the beat of the drum, While often, too often (I tell it with pain) They menac'd my head with a hickory cane, While others, my betters, as much were opprest — But shame and confusion shall cover the rest.

You, doubtless, will think I am dealing in fable When I tell you I guard an officer's stable — With usage like this my feelings are stung; The next thing will be, I must heave out the dung! Six hours in the day is duty too hard, And RIVINGTON sneers whene'er I mount guard, And laughs till his sides are ready to split With his jests, and his satires, and sayings of wit: Because he's excus'd, on account of his post,

He cannot go by without making his boast, As if I was all that is servile and mean — But fortune, perhaps, may alter the scene, And give him his turn to stand in the street, Burnt Brandy supporting his radical heat — But what for the king or the cause has he done That we must be toiling while he can look on? Great conquests he gave them on paper —'tis true, When HOWE was retreating, he made him pursue: Alack! its too plain that Britons must fall — When, loaded with laurels —they go to the wall.

From hence you may guess I do nothing but grieve, And where we are going I cannot conceive — The wisest among us a CHANGE are expecting, It is not for nothing, these ships are collecting; It is not for nothing, that MATHEWS, the mayor, And legions of Tories, for sailing prepare; It is not for nothing, that JOHN COGHILL KNAP Is filing his papers, and plugging his tap; See SKINNER* 1.11 himself, the fighting attorney, Is boiling potatoes to serve a long journey; But where they are going, or meaning to travel Would puzzle John Faustus, himielf, to unravel; — Perhaps to Penobscot, to starve in the barrens,

Perhaps to St. John's, in the gulph of St. Lawrence; Perhaps to New Scotland, to perish with cold, Perhaps to Jamaica, like slaves to be sold; Where, scorch'd by the summer, all nature repines, Where Phoebus, great Phoebus, too glaringly shines, And fierce from the zenith diverging his ray Distresses the isle with a torrent of day.

Since matters are thus, with proper submission Permit me to offer my humble PETITION; (Though the form is uncommon, and lawyers may sneer, With truth I can tell you, the scribe is sincere):

IX.

That, since it is plain we are going away, You will suffer Hugh Gaine unmolested to stay, His sand isnear run (life itself is a span) So leave him to manage the best that he can: Whoe'er are his masters, or monarchs, or regents, For the future he's ready to swear them allegiance; The CROWN he will promise to hold in disgrace: The BIBLE —allow him to stick in its place, 'Till THAT, in due season, you wish to put down, And bid him keep shop at the sign of the CROWN. If the Turk with his turban should set up at last here While he gives him protection, he'll own him his master, And yield due obedience (when Britain is gone) Though rul'd by the sceptre of PRESBYTER JOHN.

My press, that has call'd you (as tyranny drove her) Rogues, rebels, and rascals, a thousand times over,

Shall be at your service by day and by night, To publish whate'er you think proper to write; Those types which have rais'd George the third to a level With angels —shall prove him as black as the devil, To HIM that contriv'd him, a shame and disgrace, Nor blest with one virtue to honour his race!

Who knows but, in time, I may rise to be great, And have the good fortune to manage a STATE? Great noise among people great changes denotes, And I shall have money to purchase their votes — The time is approaching, I'll venture to say, When folks worse than me will come into play, When your double fac'd people shall give themselves airs, And AIM to take hold of the helm of affairs, While the honest bold SOLDIER, that sought your renown, Like a dog in the dirt, shall be crush'd and held down.

Of honours and profits allow me a share! I frequently dream of a president's chair! And visions full often intrude on my brain, That for me to interpret, would rather be vain.

Blest seasons advance, when Britons shall find That they can be happy, and you can be kind, When Rebels no longer at Traitors shall spurn, When ARNOLD himself shall in triumph return!

X.

But my paper informs me it's time to conclude; I fear my Address has been rather too rude —

If it has —for my boldness your pardon I pray, And further, at present, presume not to say, Except that (for form's sake) in haste I remain Your humble Petitioner —honest —HUGH GAINE.

Notes

• * 1.1

  The British army evacuated New York the November following.
• † 1.2

  The Legislature of the State were at this time in session at FISHKILL.
• ‡ 1.3

  Hugh Gaine, a native of Ireland, commenced the printing business in New York in 1750. In 1752, he began the publication of the New York Mercury, a weekly newspaper, which appeared every Monday. It was subsequently entitled The New York Gazette and the Weekly Mercury. In 1777, Gaine set up the King's Arms in the title, in place of a figure of Mercury. "During the political contest with Great Britain," says Thomas, in his "History of Printing," "the Mercury appeared rather as a neutral paper. Gaine seemed desirous to side with the successful party; but, not knowing which would eventually prevail, he seems to have been unstable in his politics. After the war commenced, he leaned toward the country. When the British army approached New York, in 1776, Gaine removed to Newark in New Jersey, and there, during a few weeks, published the Mercury. Soon after the British gained possession of the city of New York, he returned and printed, under the protection of the King's army; and, like Rivington, devoted his paper to the royal cause. Gaine published the Mercury until peace was established, and it was then discontinued, after an existence of about thirty-one years."

  In compliance with a petition to the State Legislature, which is the subject of Freneau's humorous poem, Hugh Gaine was permitted, at the close of the war, to remain in the city in peace. There he continued engaged in his business as a bookseller, in which he enjoyed the reputation of great probity, till his death, in 1807, at the age of eighty-one.
• * 1.4

  A cynical and very eccentric physician.—Author's note.
• * 1.5

  New-York Printers, before the Revolution.
• * 1.6

  Lieutenant-Governor Cadwallader Colden.
• * 1.7

  Isaac Sears, a popular leader of the "Sons of Liberty," in New York, at the outbreak of the Revolution, and hence called "King Sears," from his authority and influence, was born in Connecticut, in 1729. He was a sailor in early life, and, when he appeared as an actor in public affairs in New York, in 1765, as Chairman of the Committee of Correspondence of the patriots of that period, was a merchant and sea-captain of that city. In August, 1775, he was engaged with a number of citizens, among whom was Alexander Hamilton, then a student of Columbia College, in removing the cannon from the Battery at the foot of Broadway, while Captain Vandeput, in command of the Afia in the harbour, fired upon the party and the city. The tavern of Samuel Fraunces, in Broad street, the building in which Washington took leave of his officers at the end of the war, was, according to Freneau, struck by a shot. In the edition of 1786, the lines referring to this incident read :—

  "At first we suppos'd it was only a sham,Till he drove a round ball through the roof of black Sam;"—

  Fraunces being of a dark complexion. Sears, making a voyage to China as supercargo, after the war was ended, was, on his arrival at Canton, struck with a fever, which there terminated his life in October, 1785.
• * 1.8

  A cant phrase among privateersmen.—Author's note.
• * 1.9

  From Long Island.
• * 1.10

  The Rev. Samuel Auchmuty, a graduate of Harvard College of the class of 1742, succeeded the Rev. Dr. Barclay as Rector of Trinity Church, New York, in 1764. His sympathies with the old monarchy were decided. Sabine, in his "Loyalists of the Revolution," cites a portion of a letter by him to Captain Montresor, chief engineer of Gage's army at Boston, dated New York, April, 1775, in which he says: "We have lately been plagued with a rascally Whig mob here, but they have effected nothing, only Sears, the king, was rescued at the jail-door." Auchmuty died in New York, in 1777.

  Myles Cooper, alluded to in the same paragraph, was the loyalist President of King's College, New York, who, rendering himself obnoxious to the citizens by his advocacy of the royal cause, was driven from the city in a popular commotion on the night of the 10th of May, 1775. he took refuge on board of a ship-of-war in the harbor, in which he returned to England. The poet Trumbull, in his "M'Fingal," includes both these worthies in his enumeration of the "High Church Clergy" who were on the side of the king:—

  "What warnings had ye of your duty From our old Rev'rend Sam. Auchmuty? Have not our Cooper and our Seabury Sung hymns, like Barak and old Deborah?"
• * 1.11

  Cortlandt Skinner, the last royal Attorney-General of New Jersey, was authorized, early in the war, to raise a corps of Loyalists. Three battalions were organized and officered, and called the New Jersey volunteers; but the enlistments were little over a thousand men. He continued in command of the corps, with the rank of Brigadier-General. After the war he returned to England.—Loyalists