The Battle Of Lake Champlain

September 11, 1814

Between the british squadron, of 93 guns and 1050 men, and the American fleet of 86 guns and 820 men. The Confiance, of 39 and the Saratoga, of 26 guns, were the flag ships of the two commanders, Downie and Macdonough.

Parading near saint Peter's flood Full fourteen thousand soldiers stood; Allied with natives of the wood, With frigates, sloops, and galleys near; Which southward, now, began to steer; Their object was, Ticonderogue.

Assembled at Missisqui bay A feast they held, to hail the day, When all should bend to british sway From Plattsburg to Ticonderogue.

And who could tell, if reaching there They might not other laurels share And England's flag in triumph bear To the capitol, at Albany!!!

Sir George advanced, with fire and sword, The frigates were with vengeance stored, The strength of Mars was felt on board,-- When Downie gave the dreadful word, Huzza! for death or victory!

Sir George beheld the prize at stake, And, with his veterans, made the attack, Macomb's brave legions drove him back; And England's fleet approach'd to meet A desperate combat, on the lake.

With sulphurous clouds the heavens were black; We saw advance the Confiance, Shall blood and carnage mark her track, To gain dominion on the lake.

Then on our ships she pour'd her flame, And many a tar did kill or maim, Who suffer'd for their country's fame, Her soil to save, her rights to guard.

Macdonough, now, began his play, And soon his seamen heard him say, No Saratoga yields, this day, To all the force that Britain sends.

"Disperse, my lads, and man the waist, Be firm, and to your stations haste, And England from Champlain is chased, If you behave as you'll see me."

The fire began with awful roar; At our first flash the artillery tore From his proud stand, their commodore, A presage of the victory.

The skies were hid in flame and smoke, Such thunders from the cannon spoke, The contest such an aspect took As if all nature went to wreck! From isle La Motte to Saranac[A]

[A] A river which rises from several small lakes among the mountains to the westward of Lake Champlain, and after a north easterly course of near seventy-five miles, enters the grand lake in the vicinity of Plattsburg.--Freneau's note.

Amidst his decks, with slaughter strew'd, Unmoved, the brave Macdonough stood, Or waded through a scene of blood, At every step that round him stream'd:

He stood amidst Columbia's sons, He stood amidst dismounted guns, He fought amidst heart-rending groans, The tatter'd sail, the tottering mast.

Then, round about, his ship he wore, And charged his guns with vengeance sore, And more than Etna shook the shore-- The foe confess'd the contest vain.

In vain they fought, in vain they sail'd, That day; for Britain's fortune fail'd, And their best efforts nought avail'd To hold dominion on Champlain.

So, down their colors to the deck The vanquish'd struck--their ships a wreck-- What dismal tidings for Quebec, What news for England and her prince!

For, in this fleet, from England won, A favorite project is undone: Her sorrows only are begun-- And she may want, and very soon, Her armies for her own defence.