The Briton views his mangled crew, "And shall we strike to _thirty-two_" (Said Hector, stained with gore); "Shall Britain's flag to these descend-- Rise, and the glorious conflict end, Britons, I ask no more!" He spoke--they charged their cannon round, Again the vaulted heavens resound, The Randolph bore it all, Then fixed her pointed cannons true-- Away the unwieldy vengeance flew; Britain, the warriors fall. The Yarmouth saw, with dire dismay, Her wounded hull, shrouds shot away, Her boldest heroes dead-- She saw amidst her floating slain The conquering Randolph stem the main-- She saw, she turned, and fled! That hour, blest chief, had she been thine, Dear Biddle, had the powers divine Been kind as thou wert brave; But fate, who doomed thee to expire, Prepared an arrow tipped with fire, And marked a watery grave, And in that hour when conquest came Winged at his ship a pointed flame That not even _he_ could shun-- The conquest ceased, the Yarmouth fled, The bursting Randolph ruin spread, And lost what honor won. PHILIP FRENEAU. Among the most successful of the Yankee privateers was the Providence, and her most famous exploit was performed in July, 1779, when she attacked a fleet of merchantmen, under convoy of a ship of the line and some cruisers, and captured ten prizes, nine of which, valued at over a million dollars, were got safely to Boston. The Providence was commanded by Abraham Whipple, the hero of the Gaspee exploit and of a hundred others. THE YANKEE PRIVATEER [July, 1779] Come listen and I'll tell you How first I went to sea, To fight against the British And earn our liberty. We shipped with Cap'n Whipple Who never knew a fear, The Captain of the Providence, The Yankee Privateer. We sailed and we sailed And made good cheer, There were many pretty men On the Yankee Privateer. The British Lord High Admiral He wished old Whipple harm, He wrote that he would hang him At the end of his yard arm. "My Lord," wrote Cap'n Whipple back, "It seems to me it's clear That if you want to hang him, You must catch your Privateer." We sailed and we sailed And made good cheer, For not a British frigate Could come near the Privateer. We sailed to the south'ard, And nothing did we meet, Till we found three British frigates And their West Indian fleet. Old Whipple shut our ports As we crawled up near, And he sent us all below On the Yankee Privateer. So slowly he sailed We dropped to the rear, And not a soul suspected The Yankee Privateer. At night we put the lights out And forward we ran And silently we boarded The biggest merchantman. We knocked down the watch,-- And the lubbers shook for fear, She's a prize without a shot To the Yankee Privateer.