The boy's book of battle-lyrics a collection of verses illustrating some notable events in the history of the United States of America, from the Colonial period to the outbreak of the Sectional War |
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JACK, THE REGULAR.
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 | The boy's book of battle-lyrics |  |
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JACK, THE REGULAR.
JOHN BERRY, THE LOYALIST.
There is scarcely a native of Bergen County, in New Jersey, who has not heard of Jack, the Regular, and by the older residents there are still told a number of stories of his cruelty and rapacity. That there was such a person, that he was an active loyalist during the Revolutionary war, and that he was finally killed by the Van Valens, and his lifeless body brought into Hackensack in a wagon, there seems to be no doubt. But with all my industrious endeavor I have never been able to get particulars as to his family, the date of his birth, or when he was killed. I find that his real name was John Berry, and that he managed to gain rank as a captain—probably of loyalists. His nickname arose from a boast he made that he was no marauder, but held a regular commission from his Gracious Majesty. Hence those who sided with the Americans called him Jack, the Regular, and he was scarcely ever known by another name.
So far as I can learn he was killed on the slope of the Palisade ridge, not far from what is known as the Ridgefield station, on the Northern Railroad, and by a long shot. It was merely fired in vexation by Van Valen, who was astonished when the partisan fell, and hesitated for some time to verify the fact of his death. Jack's band at that time had been broken up, or he was in some disgrace; for he had had apparently no command for some time before he was killed, and was with but one companion at the time.
In the Bergen winter night, when the hickory fire is roaring,
Flickering streams of ruddy light on the folk before it pouring;
When the apples pass around, and the cider passes after,
And the well-worn jest is crowned by the hearers' hearty laughter,
When the cat is purring there, and the dog beside her dozing,
And within his easy-chair sits the grandsire old, reposing,
Then they tell the story true to the children hushed and eager,
How the two Van Valens slew, on a time, the Tory leaguer,
Jack, the Regular.
Flickering streams of ruddy light on the folk before it pouring;
When the apples pass around, and the cider passes after,
And the well-worn jest is crowned by the hearers' hearty laughter,
When the cat is purring there, and the dog beside her dozing,
And within his easy-chair sits the grandsire old, reposing,
Then they tell the story true to the children hushed and eager,
How the two Van Valens slew, on a time, the Tory leaguer,
Jack, the Regular.
Near a hundred years ago, when the maddest of the Georges
Sent his troops to scatter woe on our hills and in our gorges,
Less we hated, less we feared, those he sent here to invade us
Than the neighbors with us reared who opposed us or betrayed us;
And amid those loyal knaves who rejoiced in our disasters,
As became the willing slaves of the worst of royal masters,
Stood John Berry, and he said that a regular commission
Set him at his comrades' head; so we called him, in derision,
“Jack, the Regular.”
Sent his troops to scatter woe on our hills and in our gorges,
Less we hated, less we feared, those he sent here to invade us
Than the neighbors with us reared who opposed us or betrayed us;
And amid those loyal knaves who rejoiced in our disasters,
As became the willing slaves of the worst of royal masters,
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Set him at his comrades' head; so we called him, in derision,
“Jack, the Regular.”
When he heard it—“Let them fling! Let the traitors make them merry
With the fact my gracious king deigns to make me Captain Berry.
I will scourge them for the sneer, for the venom that they carry;
I will shake their hearts with fear, as the land around I harry;
They shall find the midnight raid waking them from fitful slumbers;
They shall find the ball and blade daily thinning out their numbers;
Barn in ashes, cattle slain, hearth on which there glows no ember,
Neatless plough and horseless wain—thus the rebels shall remember
Jack, the Regular.
With the fact my gracious king deigns to make me Captain Berry.
I will scourge them for the sneer, for the venom that they carry;
I will shake their hearts with fear, as the land around I harry;
They shall find the midnight raid waking them from fitful slumbers;
They shall find the ball and blade daily thinning out their numbers;
Barn in ashes, cattle slain, hearth on which there glows no ember,
Neatless plough and horseless wain—thus the rebels shall remember
Jack, the Regular.
Well he kept his promise then, with a fierce, relentless daring,
Fire to roof-trees, death to men, through the Bergen valleys bearing.
In the midnight deep and dark came his vengeance darker, deeper—
At the watch-dog's sudden bark woke in terror every sleeper;
Till at length the farmers brown, wasting time no more on tillage,
Swore these ruffians of the crown, fiends of murder, fire, and pillage,
Should be chased by every path to the dens where they had banded,
And no prayers should soften wrath when they caught the bloody-handed
Jack, the Regular.
Fire to roof-trees, death to men, through the Bergen valleys bearing.
In the midnight deep and dark came his vengeance darker, deeper—
At the watch-dog's sudden bark woke in terror every sleeper;
Till at length the farmers brown, wasting time no more on tillage,
Swore these ruffians of the crown, fiends of murder, fire, and pillage,
Should be chased by every path to the dens where they had banded,
And no prayers should soften wrath when they caught the bloody-handed
Jack, the Regular.
One by one they slew his men: still the chief their chase evaded;
He had vanished from their ken, by the fiend or fortune aided—
Either fled to Paulus Hoek, where the Briton yet commanded,
Or his stamping-ground forsook, waiting till the hunt disbanded.
So they stopped pursuit at length, and returned to toil securely—
It was useless wasting strength on a purpose baffled surely;
But the two Van Valens swore, in a patriotic rapture,
They would never give it o'er till they'd either kill or capture
Jack, the Regular.
He had vanished from their ken, by the fiend or fortune aided—
Either fled to Paulus Hoek, where the Briton yet commanded,
Or his stamping-ground forsook, waiting till the hunt disbanded.
So they stopped pursuit at length, and returned to toil securely—
It was useless wasting strength on a purpose baffled surely;
But the two Van Valens swore, in a patriotic rapture,
They would never give it o'er till they'd either kill or capture
Jack, the Regular.
Long they hunted through the wood, long they slept upon the hillside;
In the forest sought their food, drank when thirsty at the rill-side;
No exposure counted hard—theirs was hunting border fashion;
They grew bearded like the pard, and their chase became a passion.
Even friends esteemed them mad, said their minds were out of balance,
Mourned the cruel fate, and sad, fallen on the poor Van Valens.
But they answered to it all, “Only wait our loud view-holloa
When the prey shall to us fall; for to death we mean to follow
Jack, the Regular.
In the forest sought their food, drank when thirsty at the rill-side;
No exposure counted hard—theirs was hunting border fashion;
They grew bearded like the pard, and their chase became a passion.
Even friends esteemed them mad, said their minds were out of balance,
Mourned the cruel fate, and sad, fallen on the poor Van Valens.
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When the prey shall to us fall; for to death we mean to follow
Jack, the Regular.
Hunted they from Tenavlie to the shore where Hudson presses
On the base of trap-rocks high; through Moonachie's damp recesses;
Down as far as Bergen Hill; by the Ramapo and Drochy,
Overproek and Pellum Kill—meadows flat and hill-top rocky—
Till at last the brothers stood where the road from New Barbadoes
At the English Neighborhood slants towards the Palisadoes;
Still to find the prey they sought leave no sign for hunter eager;
Followed steady, not yet caught was the skulking, fox-like leaguer,
Jack, the Regular.
On the base of trap-rocks high; through Moonachie's damp recesses;
Down as far as Bergen Hill; by the Ramapo and Drochy,
Overproek and Pellum Kill—meadows flat and hill-top rocky—
Till at last the brothers stood where the road from New Barbadoes
At the English Neighborhood slants towards the Palisadoes;
Still to find the prey they sought leave no sign for hunter eager;
Followed steady, not yet caught was the skulking, fox-like leaguer,
Jack, the Regular.
Who are they that yonder creep by those bleak rocks in the distance,
Like the figures born in sleep, called by slumber to existence?
Tories, doubtless, from below—from the Hoek sent out for spying.
“No! the foremost is our foe—he so long before us flying!
Now he spies us! See him start! wave his kerchief like a banner,
Lay his left hand on his heart in a proud, insulting manner.
Well he knows that distant spot past our ball—his low scorn flinging—
If you can not feel the shot, you shall hear the firelock's ringing,
Jack, the Regular.”
Like the figures born in sleep, called by slumber to existence?
Tories, doubtless, from below—from the Hoek sent out for spying.
“No! the foremost is our foe—he so long before us flying!
Now he spies us! See him start! wave his kerchief like a banner,
Lay his left hand on his heart in a proud, insulting manner.
Well he knows that distant spot past our ball—his low scorn flinging—
If you can not feel the shot, you shall hear the firelock's ringing,
Jack, the Regular.”
Ah! he falls! An ambuscade? 'Twas impossible to strike him.
Are there Tories in the glade? Such a trick is very like him.
See! his comrade by him kneels, turning him in terror over,
Then takes nimbly to his heels. Have they really slain the rover?
It is worth some risk to know; so, with firelocks poised and ready,
Up the sloping hill they go, with a quick lookout, and steady.
Dead! The random shot had struck, to the heart had pierced the Tory—
Vengeance seconded by luck! Lies there cold and stiff and gory
Jack, the Regular.
Are there Tories in the glade? Such a trick is very like him.
See! his comrade by him kneels, turning him in terror over,
Then takes nimbly to his heels. Have they really slain the rover?
It is worth some risk to know; so, with firelocks poised and ready,
Up the sloping hill they go, with a quick lookout, and steady.
Dead! The random shot had struck, to the heart had pierced the Tory—
Vengeance seconded by luck! Lies there cold and stiff and gory
Jack, the Regular.
“Jack, the Regular, is dead! Honor to the man who slew him!”
So the Bergen farmers said as they crowded round to view him.
For the wretch that lay there slain had, with wickedness unbending,
To their roofs brought fiery rain, to their kinsfolk woful ending.
Not a mother but had prest, in a sudden pang of fearing,
Sobbing darlings to her breast when his name had smote her hearing;
Not a wife that did not feel terror when the words were uttered;
Not a man but chilled to steel when the hated sounds he muttered—
“Jack, the Regular.”
So the Bergen farmers said as they crowded round to view him.
For the wretch that lay there slain had, with wickedness unbending,
To their roofs brought fiery rain, to their kinsfolk woful ending.
Not a mother but had prest, in a sudden pang of fearing,
Sobbing darlings to her breast when his name had smote her hearing;
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Not a man but chilled to steel when the hated sounds he muttered—
“Jack, the Regular.”
Bloody in his work was he, in his purpose iron-hearted;
Gentle pity could not be when the pitiless had parted;
So the corse in wagon thrown with no decent cover o'er it—
Jeers its funeral rites alone—into Hackensack they bore it,
'Mid the clanging of the bells in the old Dutch church's steeple,
And the hooting and the yells of the gladdened, maddened people.
Some they rode and some they ran by the wagon where it rumbled,
Scoffing at the lifeless man, all elate that Death had humbled
Jack, the Regular.
Gentle pity could not be when the pitiless had parted;
So the corse in wagon thrown with no decent cover o'er it—
Jeers its funeral rites alone—into Hackensack they bore it,
'Mid the clanging of the bells in the old Dutch church's steeple,
And the hooting and the yells of the gladdened, maddened people.
Some they rode and some they ran by the wagon where it rumbled,
Scoffing at the lifeless man, all elate that Death had humbled
Jack, the Regular.
Thus within the winter night, when the hickory fire is roaring,
Flickering streams of ruddy light on the folk before it pouring;
When the apples pass around, and the cider follows after,
And the well-worn jest is crowned by the hearers' hearty laughter;
When the cat is purring there, and the dog beside her dozing,
And within his easy-chair sits the grandsire old, reposing,
Then they tell the story true to the children hushed and eager,
How the bold Van Valen slew, on a time, the Tory leaguer,
Jack, the Regular.
Flickering streams of ruddy light on the folk before it pouring;
When the apples pass around, and the cider follows after,
And the well-worn jest is crowned by the hearers' hearty laughter;
When the cat is purring there, and the dog beside her dozing,
And within his easy-chair sits the grandsire old, reposing,
Then they tell the story true to the children hushed and eager,
How the bold Van Valen slew, on a time, the Tory leaguer,
Jack, the Regular.
| The boy's book of battle-lyrics | |