The Slave Chase
Set every stitch of canvas to woo the fresh’ning wind;
Our bowsprit points to Cuba, the coast lies far behind.
Filled to the hatches full, my boys, across the seas we go;
There’s twice five hundred niggers in the stifling hold below.
‘A sail! What say you, boys? Well—let him give us chase
A British man-of-war you say—well, let him try the race;
There’s not a swifter vessel ever floated on the waves
Than our tidy little schooner well ballasted with slaves.’
Now stronger yet and stronger still came down the fiery breeze,
And ever fast and faster sped the strange ship on the seas,
Flinging each rude and bursting surge in glittering haloes back,
And bearing high to heaven aloft the English Union Jack!
‘Now curses on that ensign,’ the slaving captain said;
‘There’s little luck for slavers when the English bunting’s spread.
But pack on sail and trim the ship; before we’ll captured be
We’ll have the niggers up, my boys, and heave them in the sea.’
Hoarse was the slaving captain’s voice, and deep the oath he swore:
‘Haul down the flag; that’s shot enough, we don’t want any more.’
Alongside dashed the cruiser’s boat to board and seize the prize.
Hark to that rattling British cheer that’s ringing to the skies!
‘Up, up with the negroes speedily; up, up, and give them breath;
Clear out the hold from stem to stern: that noisome den is death;
And run aloft St. George’s Cross, all wanton let it wave,
The token proud that under it there never treads a slave.’