Battle of Fort Montgomery
[An ode]
They came, they came,
in ships of old,
the Royal British fleet.
They rolled like waves, ships built not stol’d,
grim strangers to defeat,
And flags were raised, red-blue and bold,
yes death so indiscreet.
Our boys at home, we sat and shook,
not nervous but engaged.
The eyes of wives in windows there,
but look! they seem quite aged.
So the poet thunk like stew to cook,
he used hard words like ‘caged’,
and the scholar played a queen to rook,
upon his tiny stage.
Yes so it was while Brits advanced,
up, up, our mighty creek.
A gun to gun and plan to plans,
of wartime did it reek.
So we stood right there, on rocks and sand,
and under Bear’s low peak,
and readied our cannon upon that land,
with scalps in mind to seek.
Six cannons, yes, deuce pounds and thirty,
to cut broad galleon’s flank,
a chain that spanned our Hudson fertile,
they’d halt and walk the plank.
And sink and sink with buckled knee,
yes sink until they sank.
There was George Clinton, that man to lead,
plus his brother James,
and others, sure, just left to bleed,
but none to sing their names.
And so they led, they led indeed,
our troops of thirty score,
and tall they sat upon those steeds,
singing “More, my men, more, more!”
“Fire! Shoot! Shoot to kill!
Show those boys your teeth!
Make a stand for old Peekskill:
like heaven but underneath.
“Yes let him come, Sir Henry Clinton,
The man who’s name’s half mine.
So let him bite the cosmic dust,
And sleep amongst the pine!”
And came he did, October six,
Seventeen seven and seven.
Loyalists, Hessians, we took our picks,
for freedom, yes, for severance.
We gave those swine some forty licks,
with pride but coming penance.
See as we shot from stern to bow,
with big black balls that bust,
those Reds they trot like steed and cow,
upon us snuck like rust.
