Songs for Sailors :: :: University of Virginia Library

Boys, I'll give you a song about one that's gone long,
One that all true good salts should know;
For no braver a one ever stood to a gun
Than my hero, old bold Benbow.
Though many a name has a better-known fame,
I think 'tis a shame 'tis so;
So fill the can, men, and I'll sing to you then
The deeds of old bold Benbow.

A clipper was Drake and a devil was Blake,
Stout Duncan, Mynheer knew well;
Of Rodney and Hawke your Frenchmen don't talk,
And of Howe's deeds we're proud to tell.
Of Cochrane the bold you've often been told,
Of Jervis's pluck all know;
But Nelson himself should be laid on the shelf
As soon as old bold Benbow.

He couldn't boast birth, but you'll see he was worth
A score of the dons who could,
Fine fair-weather men, they were nowhere when Ben
Alone through the Frenchmen stood.
They may make a fine fuss of their high blood to us,
But we know that it's often so,
That our boldest have passed from before the mast
To glory like old Benbow.

He was left in the lurch; he was out in search
Of Du Casse, whom he long had sought;
Through the West Indy Isles he had chased them for miles,
And the skulkers at last he'd caught.
His turn—it was come; they were big ones some,
Ten sail, and says he, ‘We'll show
Mounseer the way to Spithead to-day;
Won't we, lads?’ says old bold Benbow.

So he flung out the sign to bear down on their line,
But we'd only six sail, d'you see;
And our captains were nobs, and hot work such fine snobs
Thought with them wouldn't quite agree;
They funked; when they found he'd fight, they wore round;
How he swore when he saw them go!
‘But we don't go, my men, though we're but one to ten;
No, we'll fight them!’ said bold Benbow.

So he left all behind, and before the wind
Right into the ten he went;
Then one Captain took shame, and after him came;
Real work, lads, the old dog meant.
At their Admiral's side hard to board he tried;
At a first-rate he then let go,
And no more heard that day of her; 'twas his way;
So he served them, did old Benbow.

The work was too warm to last long; one arm
Was gone; a shot tore his head;
A cannon-ball then took his right leg, ‘My men,
Bring a cradle on deck,’ he said.
While life was in him, and his ship would but swim,
He scorned, lads, to go below;
‘If I die, boys,’ says he, ‘never mind, d'you see;
Fight it out!’ says our bold Benbow.

To his four ships in sight he still signalled on ‘fight,’
But they weren't of the fighting stuff;
So they left Ben alone to swear and to groan,
Till Mounseer found they'd had enough.
And so struck was he with old Ben, d'you see,
That a letter he sent; 'twas so:
‘Had your Captains but fought as the cursed cowards ought,
You'd have took me, Mounseer Benbow.

‘You'll hang them, I hope; they deserve well the rope,’
And Du Casse's hint wasn't forgot;
He thought 'twas but right, so in all the fleet's sight,
On his deck they were tried and shot.
‘I've but one leg; by heaven, but,’ says he, ‘I'd have given
That to save us this shame, I know;’
Oh he'd all Nelson's pluck, though he hadn't his luck,
So here's glory to old Benbow.

Well, old walls of oak have become just a joke,
And in tea-kettles we're to fight;
It seems a queer dream, all this iron and steam,
But I daresay, my lads, it's right.

But whether we float in ship or in boat
In iron or oak, we know,
For old England's right we've hearts that will fight
As of old did the brave Benbow.