At last we are met--but I hope with no other Intent or design but to spare one another. Though we seem by our flags to be desperate foes, Let us part, if you please, without banging or blows. ‘(_Galissonière._) But since fighting and wars are the arts which we trade in, We must have a little and short cannonading; Our guns must be fired at a distance, but still With no wicked intention to wound or to kill....’ Byng’s despatch was frequently parodied in verse, and one of these parodies, _The Letter of a certain Admiral_, is given on p. 207, together with _A Rueful Story_ (p. 209). Blakeney became the hero of the hour, and a naval officer who had served in the defence of Fort St. Philip was glorified with him in _A New Song_ (p. 206). Another ballad handed down to tradition, of which the tune as well as the words has been preserved, accused Byng of selling Port Mahon, and contrasted his treachery with the courage of West (p. 210). Next year another fiasco excited popular feeling to fury, namely the abortive ‘secret expedition’ to Rochefort in September 1757. The navy did its part in capturing the isle of Aix; the ships could not get near enough to batter Rochefort, and the soldiers were never landed. Sir John Mordaunt, the commander of the troops, was acquitted by a court-martial. The _New Song written on the Isle of Aix_ (p. 211) is apparently intended to represent the feelings of Hawke, who was vexed and indignant at the decision of the generals not to attempt a landing (Burrows, _Life of Hawke_, ed. 1896, p. 138). The year 1758 was more fortunate, but neither Pocock’s engagements in the East Indies nor the capture of Louisbourg are the subject of ballads which have reached us. Keppel’s expedition against the French colonies in Africa attracted more attention. One ballad, _Bold Sawyer_, relates the capture of Goree, which took place December 28, 1758 (Entick, iii. 271-8). While it gives the names of the ships engaged in the expedition correctly, it calls the captain of the Nassau Sawyer, though his name was James Sayer. Another ballad relates the fate of the Lichfield, Captain Barton, which ran ashore on the coast of Morocco on November 29, 1758 (p. 214). The crew were made slaves, and were not released till April 1760, when they were ransomed for 170,000 dollars by a special ambassador sent for the purpose (Duncan, _The Mariner’s Chronicle_, iii. 118-30).