Upon her decks we jump'd amain, with tomahawk and sword;
The conflict now was sharp and fierce, for clemency had fled,
And streams of gore mark'd every blow--the dying and the dead.

Our captain heads the daring band, to make the Velos strike,
But soon received a dangerous thrust, from a well-hove boarding pike.
We thought 'twas all "clue up" with him, although he cheered us on,
And we determined, every man, the Slaver should be won.

We beat them on the main deck, till they could no longer stand,
When our leader sings out "Quarter!" some mercy to command;
But now the sherry which we made, with panic fill'd the horde,
For some dived down the hatchways, and some leap'd overboard.

Close to their scudding heels our lads did their attentions pay,
Cutlass in hand, to hold their own--to capture more than slay;
Through slippery gore we fought our way, the quarter-deck to gain,
And in loud cheers her mizen peak soon lost the flag of Spain.

Our prize we found was frigate-built, from Whydah she sail'd out,
With near six hundred slaves on board, and eight score seamen stout;
Equipp'd with stores of every sort, the missile war to wage,
And twenty long guns through her ports seem'd frowning to engage.

Of those that were made prisoners, they all were put abaft,
And we with well-arm'd sentinels paraded fore and aft;
We pick'd up all the slaughter'd men, and hove them in the deep,
Where, full in number fifty, they take their final sleep.

And twenty more disabled Dons, with eyelet holes and scars,