The Press-Gang (1815)

Sixty years ago this curious West-country ditty was sung not only from the Tamar to the Land’s End, but from Barnstaple Bay to the Rame Head. It describes, in rough and ready rhyme, the experiences of a country yokel who was carried off by a press-gang from a wrestling match on Maker Heights, near Plymouth. Now it is almost forgotten by all but very aged memories ; and as it is a curious relic of a state of things long passed away, it has been deemed worthy of preservation here. For the copy I am indebted to Mr. Christopher Childs, of Liskeard, who, after a great deal of trouble, succeeded in recovering fragments from old people scattered over Cornwall, and in putting them together in what is evidently a very near approach to its original form. The dialect is mainly that of Devon.

TOME listen vather, and mother too,

And sister Nance, I pray.

And I’ll tell ‘ee a passel o’ strange things,

Since I’ve comed home from say [sea].

I’ll tell ‘ee a passel o’ strange things,

All about the wind and tide,

How the compass steered as thee never heerd.

And lots o’ strange things beside.

 

Chorus — Too ral, lal, too ral, &c.

 

When I went down to Plymouth town,

There to a inn a hostling,

I went over to Maker Green

To ha’ a scat to wrastling.

A pair o’ leatheren breeches was the prize,

A little the wuss for wear ;

Jan Jordan and I drawed two vails a-piece,

And Dick Simmons comed in for a share.

 

And jist as the double play had began.

And Maker clock had nacked six,

Up came a passel o’ ugly chaps,

Wi’ lots o’ swords and sticks ;

They abused Dick Simmons, and darned his eyes,

And called ‘uu all sorts o’ names.

“Blam ‘ee,” ses I, ” Dick Simmons,” says I,

“They’ve purfectly spoiled the games.”

 

Then in comed a chap with a great cocked hat,

That seemed to be the king ;

“Blam ‘ee,” ses I, “if you’ve a consait.

Will ‘ee stap wi’ me into the ring?”

So he turned inside, and I drawed the sword

Directly out o’ his hand.

When a veller behind mur nacked mur down,

And another he told mur to stand.

 

Then amang mun all they took mur up.

And lugged mur down to a boat,

When ses the meister to the men,

“Let’s set the rascal afloat.”

 

But though I begged ’em in good stead —

And I looked ” like anything ” —

That they shouldn’t top me in the say,

But send me to serve the king :

 

There came alang Alias Prowse —

He was bound for a vurren croos,

And he ran away for a small chield,

And a devil o’ veller he was ; —

Then he took mur up both neck and heels,

And topp’d mur into the say ;

But as I always trusted in Providence,

I wasn’t to die thicker way.

 

Then they took mur out to a gert big ship,

Which lied far out in the Sound ;

The waves did top so cruel high,

I thought we ‘d all been drowned,

But I catched hold a rope and climbered up.

And so I got inside.

Massy upon me, I was so sick,

I thort I must ha died.

 

Jist as a nation row began.

Our ship she jist got out ;

The waves did top so cruel high,

And the wind turned right about.

One cried, “Luff!” another cried, “Tack !”

And another, ” Helm’s a-lee !”

But luff and tack, or tack and luff,

Was all the same thing to me.

 

Now as we on the ocean sailed.

We- spied a French ship comin’ ;

Our meister beat all hands to quarter,

And a veller went round a drummin’.

Now I began to call o’er my past life,

My sinful actions all ;

My Lor ! ses I, if I should die,

What would become o’ my saul?

 

Then this French ship up a come,

And a whole broadside let she ;

The sulphur did vly so cruel high,

I could neither hear nor see.

One got his head a nacked off

By means o’ a cannon ball ;

My Lor ! ses I, if it ‘s honour to die,

I don’t like sich honour at all.

 

Then come along the meister of our ship —

I seem I see the sword o’ en —

” Pray then, Jan,” ses he, ” come along wi’ me.

And I’ll warn we’ll soon get aboard o’ en.”

So I vollered about to my meister’s heels.

While t’ other men were out vending ;

And there I spied a gert French toad.

And I thought I could make an end o’ en.

 

Then this French veller up a come.

And showed me his gert long spit ;

But I ‘d a sword made o’ a oaken twig.

And I didn’t mind en a bit ;

 

Not though he shet vore, and tho’ he shet back,

And so the toad kept prancing,

Till my oaken twig vailed down on his wig,

Which sot his daylights a dancing.

 

Then they ordered mur up a-top o’ the mast,

Which I thought was cruel hard.

And there sot a lot of piscy toads

A-grinning all on the top yards —

Till at last the mast come tumbling down,

And so did the yards likewise ;

And I thought if Maker tower had vailed.

He couldn’t have made more noise.

 

Some valled in the sea, and some on the deck.

And I had a cruel thump.

When a veller cried, “There’s five feet water in hold !”

So they called all hands to the pump.

So we pumped away till we could hardly stand.

And we daresn’t not to speak.

Till a veller he called out again,

Sayin’, “I’ve stopped the leak.”

 

Then come aboard all the rest of the crew.

And drove away all the French vellers ;

My meister went vore to a gert big post,

And hauled down all the French colours.

I went vore to a veller who collared my meister.

And I beat him black and blue,

From the crown of his head to the sole of his foot.

Till the rascal called out ” murblue.”

 

So now come all you husbandmen

And ostlers, that would vight,

I hope, whenever you’re called upon

To maintain old England’s right ;

For since sich a silly vool as I

Can vight so very well,

Way if ever the French they do come here,

We’ll send them all to.

Worht, R. N. (..); The West country garland: selected from the writings of the poets of Devon and Cornwall, from the fifteenth to the nineteenth century, with folk songs and traditional verses. London, Houlson & sons. Available online via Archive.org.