To Amsterdam and its Commodore,
I over his pipe and his eau-de-vie,
A flibote skimming the Texel shore
Brought serious news for the Zuyder Zee:

Forty sail of the Channel fleet,
With a high-born Admiral of the Blue,
Holland’s bravest had come to greet,
And settle an ancient score or two.

Frugal of speech was the Commodore.
“I will meet their wishes,” he briefly said,
And straight to the offing his squadron bore,
With a broom at the flag-ship’s mainmasthead.

Quickly to work, in a business way,
Went old Van Dam and his captains stout,
Broadside for broadside, half the day;
But the sturdy foeman still held out;

Till about four bells in the afternoon
The English suddenly ceased their fire,
And Van Dam hailed: “Have you struck so soon?
Is the score then settled, may I inquire?”

And the answer came: “No; we have not struck,
But our powder is spent; we can fight no more.”
“Ah, that is a matter of evil luck,
In a case like this,” said the Commodore.

Then he stroked his beard, and he closed his eyes:
‘T were a pity to mar so sweet a fight
On a beggarly question of supplies.
Diable! it spoils one’s pleasure quite.”

With the thrifty blood of his Holland sire
A stream of a warmer fluid ran,
From a Norman mother with heart of fire —
And the mother it is that makes the man.

“To win or to lose,” said the blood of France,
“Were a problem simple as life or death;
But to win by an enemy’s dull mischance!”
He damned the lubbers below his breath.

Then: “Send me your boat aboard,” he cried,
“If you will not strike and you cannot fight.
Pity your stubborn bull-dog pride
Should bark so loud, with so small a bite!”

The Admiral came in his gig of state;
A captain by right of heritage,
Favor had made him all but great,
And Nature had never marred the page.

Dutchman all was the Commodore
At once when he saw his wondrous guest,
Marveling much and marveling more
As he listed the visitor’s request.

Never was such proposal made
To sailor before, on land or sea:
“‘T is awkward to dabble in vulgar trade;
But have you some powder to sell to me?”

Dutch diplomacy struggled hard,
But Gallic chivalry won the day.
The sale was made, and the bill was paid,
And the guns went back to their pleasant play.

Ill had it gone with the Commodore
Had pluck or fortune deceived him then;
But he fought as he never fought before,
And he brought his investment back again.

The great States-General, solemn folk,
When old Van Dam came home next day,
With his prizes in tow, forgave the joke,
Or never perceived it — who can say?