Misc Traditional – The Battle Of The Kegs (Guitar)

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Gallants attend, and hear a friend,

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Trill forth harmonious dit-ty,

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Strange things I'll tell, which late be-fell,

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In Philadelphia city.

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'Twas early day, as poets say,

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Just when the sun was rising,

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A soldier stood, on a log of wood,

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And saw a thing sur-prising.

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As, in amaze, he stood to gaze,

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The truth can't be denied, sir,

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He spied a score of kegs or more,

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Come floating down the tide sir.

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A sailor, too, in jerkin blue,

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This strange appearance viewing,

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First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise,

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Then said, "There’s mischief brewing.

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"These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold,

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Packed up like pickled herring,

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And they've come down, t' a-ttack the town,

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In this new way of ferrying."

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The soldier flew, the sailor too,

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And scared almost to death, sir,

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Wore out their shoes to spread the news,

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And ran till out of breath, sir.

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Now up and down, throughout the town,

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Most frantic scenes were act-ed;

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And some ran here, and others there,

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Like men almost dis-tracted.

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Some “fire” cried, which some denied,

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But said the earth had quakèd;

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And girls and boys, with hideous noise,

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Ran through the streets half naked.

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Sir William, he, snug as a flea,

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Lay all this time a-snor-ing;

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Nor dreamed of harm, as he lay warm,

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In bed with Mrs. Loring.

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Now in a fright, he starts upright,

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A-wak'd by such a clatter;

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He rubs his eyes, and boldly cries,

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"For God's sake, what's the matter?"

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At his bedside, he then es-pied,

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Sir Erskine at command, Sir,

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U-pon one foot he had one boot,

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And t'other in his hand, sir.

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"A-rise! arise, Sir Erskine cries,

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The rebels - more's the pity –

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With-out a boat, are all afloat,

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And rang'd be-fore the city.

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"The motley crew, in vessels new,

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With Satan for their guide, sir,

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Packed up in bags, or wooden kegs,

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Come driving down the tide, sir.

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"There-fore prepare for bloody war;

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These kegs must all be routed,

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Or surely we despis'd shall be,

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And British courage doubted."

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The royal band, now ready stand,

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All ranged in dread array, sir,

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With stomachs stout, to see it out,

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And make a bloody day, sir.

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The cannons roar from shore to shore,

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The small arms make a rattle;

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Since wars began, I'm sure no man

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E’er saw so strange a battle.

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The rebel vales, the rebel dales,

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With rebel trees sur-rounded,

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The distant woods, the hills and floods,

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With rebel echoes sounded.

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The fish below swam to and fro,

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At-tack'd from every quarter;

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“Why sure,” thought they, “the devil's to pay,

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'Mongst folks a-bove the water.”

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The kegs, 'tis said, tho’ strongly made

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Of rebel staves and hoops, sir,

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Could not oppose their powerful foes,

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The conquering British troops, sir.

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From morn till night, these men of might

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Dis-play'd amazing courage;

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And when the sun was fairly down,

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Re-tir'd to sup their porridge.

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A hundred men, with each a pen,

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Or more--upon my word, sir,

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It is most true--would be too few,

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Their valor to re-cord, sir.

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Such feats did they perform that day,

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A-gainst those wicked kegs, sir,

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That years to come, if they get home,

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They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.