The incident occurred in the winter of 1778, February 26, and the scene was the Delaware River. The British were occupying Philadelphia at the time, and a British fleet was anchored in the Delaware, opposite the city of Philadelphia. John Barry, with his ship, “Effingham,” and two or three smaller boats, had been compelled to take refuge, in the presence of a superior fleet, in the upper waters of the Delaware at Burlington; but it was not the intention of John Barry to sit still while there was a possibility of adventure of any kind, and he petitioned Congress, after he had been there only three or four weeks, to be allowed to make an attack upon a British war vessel that was anchored in the lower Delaware, by name the “Alert,” that was convoying two transports filled with food and forage for the sustenance of the British in Philadelphia. The request was granted, and the story that I have tried to tell is the story of how John Barry went down the river; the result I will leave to the fortunes of the rhyme. BALLAD OF SAUCY JACK BARRY. (Episode of February 26, 1778.) They have taken the old rebel city of Penn; Lord Howe, he has filled it with red-coated men. “What terror,” said he, “has the winter for me, Since I hold the town and my ships hold the sea?” But it never is safe, in making a boast, To reckon too easy, not counting your host; Or is it quite prudent to count on your boat When saucy Jack Barry is up and afloat? There were banquets for Captains and plenty for all; The horses had forage, too much for the stall; Double rations were served—in truth ’twas a feast, And prospects were cheery for man and for beast. But bins have a bottom and larders grow thin When plenty comes out and nothing goes in; But his Lordship smiled blandly such trifles away— “The ‘Alert’ and two transports are down in the Bay!” But it never is safe, in making a boast, To reckon too easy, not counting your host; Or is it quite prudent to count on your boat When saucy Jack Barry is up and afloat? The Delaware waters come down with a sweep Past Burlington town, snow-clad and asleep, And there lay our “Effingham,” silent and stark, A ghost of the sea, looming up thro’ the dark. Then, sudden, four boats sweep out from her side, With oars swift and muffled swing down in the tide; The moon has gone black, the wind whistles high, And the scud of the thunder-storm darkens the sky. Down the river they went, like the flight of a bird; The twenty and seven said never a word— They are after the fox of the ocean again, And they’ll make not a stir as they enter his den. It was three o’ the clock when, faintly ahead, The lights of the city flashed yellow and red— Then, sudden, a gleam, a cannon’s dull roar, A challenge and halt from the river and shore.