Post by Administrator on Oct 23, 2017 18:32:48 GMT
HMS Pickle
BALLAD OF THE ‘PICKLE’
“Make haste, little Pickle” the Admiral said,
“Go and tell England that Nelson is dead.
In his moment of triumph, a sharpshooter aimed
And the life of our hero his musket ball claimed.
They took him below – in the orlop he lay,
As his spirit and lifeblood ebbed slowly away
He whispered ‘Thank God’ in his faltering breath,
‘My duty is done’ and slipped unto death.”
“The battle is won ! Make their Lordships aware
That the Fleet has prevailed and will shortly repair
To Gibraltar for succour, refit and thanksgiving
To bury the dead and to comfort the living.
Bellerophon, Thunderer, Swiftsure and Mars,
Colossus and Neptune – all have lost spars.
My own Royal Sovereign the leeward van led
And suffered in consequence three score men dead.”
“So fly, gallant schooner and shake out all sail
For you carry great tidings and canvas-clad mail
For their Lordships, whose spirits our victory will gladden
Though the news of our loss the whole Nation will sadden.
God speed you to England – make haste while it’s light.
Delay not a moment and fly through the night.
Young Captain I charge you – La Penotiere’s your name.
Hasten to London and tell of our fame.”
So with Collingwood’s blessing the Pickle departed
Past Cadiz she sailed – round St Vincent she started.
With five points to starboard, then ten degrees more,
The Pole Star ahead and away from lee shore.
Past Lisbon to leeward – Oporto in sight,
Close-hauled all day – past Finnisterre that night.
On through wild Biscay the little craft lunged,
While mizzen stays hummed and through ocean spray plunged.
But while rounding Ushant, the hurricane shrieked,
Through cedar-clad decking, the wild water leaked.
“Lighten ship !” Cried her Captain, “Or all will be lost”
So into the ocean her cannon they tossed.
But once in the Channel, the tempest abated
The great Neptune’s ire all finally sated.
At last on the ninth day, “Land ho !” came the cry,
Their landfall was Falmouth, past Lizard hard by.
Not waiting a moment the Captain alighted,
Commanded a coachman, the first that he sighted.
To London they galloped all day and all night;
Past midnight the third day was London in sight.
‘Ere dawn the good news round the City was sung
And the King ordered Nation-wide church bells be rung.
The news of this victory brought England great gladness,
Though tinged with the loss of her hero, great sadness.
So countrymen all, whether landsman or tar,
“Three cheers for the Pickle !” the smallest by far
Of that glorious fleet on that glorious day,
From whence for a century Britannia held sway.
When Nelson looks down from his heavenly portal
As we offer the toast to the ‘Memory Immortal’,
“Remember the Pickle”, he’d certainly say,
For she also served – on that fateful day.
We are still cheering for Pickle today.
BALLAD OF THE ‘PICKLE’
“Make haste, little Pickle” the Admiral said,
“Go and tell England that Nelson is dead.
In his moment of triumph, a sharpshooter aimed
And the life of our hero his musket ball claimed.
They took him below – in the orlop he lay,
As his spirit and lifeblood ebbed slowly away
He whispered ‘Thank God’ in his faltering breath,
‘My duty is done’ and slipped unto death.”
“The battle is won ! Make their Lordships aware
That the Fleet has prevailed and will shortly repair
To Gibraltar for succour, refit and thanksgiving
To bury the dead and to comfort the living.
Bellerophon, Thunderer, Swiftsure and Mars,
Colossus and Neptune – all have lost spars.
My own Royal Sovereign the leeward van led
And suffered in consequence three score men dead.”
“So fly, gallant schooner and shake out all sail
For you carry great tidings and canvas-clad mail
For their Lordships, whose spirits our victory will gladden
Though the news of our loss the whole Nation will sadden.
God speed you to England – make haste while it’s light.
Delay not a moment and fly through the night.
Young Captain I charge you – La Penotiere’s your name.
Hasten to London and tell of our fame.”
So with Collingwood’s blessing the Pickle departed
Past Cadiz she sailed – round St Vincent she started.
With five points to starboard, then ten degrees more,
The Pole Star ahead and away from lee shore.
Past Lisbon to leeward – Oporto in sight,
Close-hauled all day – past Finnisterre that night.
On through wild Biscay the little craft lunged,
While mizzen stays hummed and through ocean spray plunged.
But while rounding Ushant, the hurricane shrieked,
Through cedar-clad decking, the wild water leaked.
“Lighten ship !” Cried her Captain, “Or all will be lost”
So into the ocean her cannon they tossed.
But once in the Channel, the tempest abated
The great Neptune’s ire all finally sated.
At last on the ninth day, “Land ho !” came the cry,
Their landfall was Falmouth, past Lizard hard by.
Not waiting a moment the Captain alighted,
Commanded a coachman, the first that he sighted.
To London they galloped all day and all night;
Past midnight the third day was London in sight.
‘Ere dawn the good news round the City was sung
And the King ordered Nation-wide church bells be rung.
The news of this victory brought England great gladness,
Though tinged with the loss of her hero, great sadness.
So countrymen all, whether landsman or tar,
“Three cheers for the Pickle !” the smallest by far
Of that glorious fleet on that glorious day,
From whence for a century Britannia held sway.
When Nelson looks down from his heavenly portal
As we offer the toast to the ‘Memory Immortal’,
“Remember the Pickle”, he’d certainly say,
For she also served – on that fateful day.
We are still cheering for Pickle today.