Note 66 — Chapter XVI · EMIGRATION TO THE WEST—WASHINGTON, THE FIRST PRESIDENT.

There are very few national American ballads: so few, indeed, that whenever an historical event has become a portion of popular literature, we may be sure that it took an unusually strong hold on the popular mind, and as having done so it is additionally worthy of the historian’s notice. The Ballad Sainclaire’s Defeat is a sort of “Chevy Chase” of the Western Territory, and abounds with deep pathos:—

’Twas November the fourth, in the year of ninety-one,

We had a sore engagement, near to Fort Jefferson;

Sainclaire was our commander, which may remembered be,

For there we left nine hundred men, in t’West’n Ter’tory.

At Bunker’s Hill and Quebeck, where many a hero fell,

Likewise at Long Island—it is the truth I tell,—

But such a dreadful carnage, may I never see again,

As happened at St. Mary’s, upon the river plain.

Our army was attacked, just as the day did dawn,

And soon was overpowered and driven from the lawn,

They killed Major Ouldham, Levin, and Briggs likewise,

And horrid yells of sav’ges, resounded through the skies.

Major Butler, he was wounded by the very second fire;

His manly bosom swelled with rage, when forced to retire;

And as he lay in anguish, and scarcely could he see,

Exclaimed, “Ye hounds of hell! Oh! revenged will I be.”

We had not been long broken, when General Butler found,

Himself so badly wounded, was forced to quit the ground.

“My God!” says he, “what shall we do? we’re wounded every man;

Go charge them, valiant heroes, and beat them if you can.”

He leaned his back against a tree, and there resigned his breath,

And like a valiant soldier, sank in the arms of death,

When blessed angels did await, his spirit to convey,

And unto the celestial fields he quickly bent his way.

We charged again with courage firm, but soon again gave ground,

The war-whoop then redoubled, as foes did us surround;

They killed good Major Ferguson, which caused his men to cry,

“Our only safety is in flight, or fighting here we die!”

“Stand to your guns,” says valiant Ford, “let’s die upon them here,

Before we let the sav’ges know, we ever harboured fear!”

Our cannon-balls exhausted, and artill’ry men all slain,

Obliged were our musket-men, the en’my to sustain.

Yet three hours more we fought them, and then were forced to yield,

Three hundred bloody warriors lay stretched upon the field.

Says Colonel Gibson to his men, “My boys, be not dismayed,

I am sure that true Virginians were never yet afraid;

“Ten thousand deaths I’d rather die, than they should gain the field;”

With that he got a fatal shot, which caused him to yield.

Says Major Clarke, “My heroes, I can no longer stand;

We’ll try to form in order, and retreat the best we can.”

The word “retreat” being passed around, there was a dismal cry,

Then helter-skelter through the woods, like wolves and sheep they fly.

This well-appointed army, which but the day before,

Defied and braved all danger, had like a cloud passed o’er.

Alas! the dying and wounded, how dreadful was the thought,

To the tomahawk and scalping knife, in misery are brought.

Some had an arm and some a thigh broke on the field that day,

Who writhed in torments at the stake, to close the dire affray.

To mention our brave officers is what I wish to do;

No sons of Mars e’er fought more brave, or with more courage true.

To Captain Bradford I belonged, in his artillery;

He fell that day among the slain, and a valiant man was he.