Songs of the sea and lays of the land :: :: University of Virginia Library

SONGS OF THE SEA

I saw three sailors synging, hey howe!
Upon yon lea-land hey!
I hearde three mariners rynging, rumbelowe:
Upon yon sea strand gaye.
Synge hey howe, rumbelowe,
Row the boat, Norman, rowe!
Percy's Relics.

THE OLD TAVERN

In the North End of Boston, long ago;
Although 'tis yet within my memory;
There were of gabled houses many a row,
With overhanging storeys two or three,
And many with half-doors over whose end
Leaning upon her elbows, the good-wife
At eventide conversed with many a friend
Of all the little chances of their life;
Small ripples in a stream which ran full slow
In the North End of Boston, long ago.

And 'mid these houses was a Hostelrie
Frequented by the people of the sea,
Known as the Boy and Barrel, from its sign:
A jolly urchin on a cask of wine

Bearing the words which puzzled every eye—
Orbus In Tactu Mainet

There were in Philadelphia, forty years ago, two sailors' groggeries in Water Street, both having the sign of The Boy and Barrel, derived from the infant Bacchus. One of these had for motto the words exactly as here misspelt and divided.

Heaven knows why.
Even there a bit of Latin made a show,
In the North End of Boston—long ago.

And many a sailor, when his cruise was o'er,
Bore straight for it soon as he touched the shore:
In many a stormy night upon the sea
He'd thought upon the Boy—and of the spree
He'd have when there, and let all trouble go,
In the North End of Boston, long ago.

There, like their vessels in a friendly port,
Met many mariners of every kind,
Spinning strange yarns of many a varied sort,
Well sheltered from the ocean and the wind;
In a long low dark room they lounged at ease;
Strange men there were from many a distant land,
And there above the high old chimney-piece

Were curiosities from many a strand,
Which often made strange tales and memories flow
In the North End of Boston, long ago.

And there I often sat to hear those tales,
From men who'd passed through storm and fight and fire,
Of mighty icebergs and stupendous whales,
Of shipwrecked crews and of adventures dire,
Until the thought came to me on a time,
While I was listening to that merry throng,
That I would write their stories out in rhyme,
And weave into it many a sailor's song,
That men might something of the legends know
Of the North End of Boston, long ago.

First it was said that Captain Kidd in truth
Had revelled in that tavern with his crew,
And there it was he lost the Golden Tooth
Which brought him treasure, and the gossips knew
Moll Pitcher dwelt there in the days of yore,

And Peter Rugg had stopped before the door:
Tom Walker there did with the Devil go
In the North End of Boston, long ago.

Nor had I long to wait, for at the word
Some one observed that he had seen in Spain
A captain hung—which Abner Chapin heard
And said, “I too upon the Spanish Main
Met with a man well known unto us all,
Who nearly hung a Captain General.”
He told the tale and I did rhyme it so;
In the North End of Boston, long ago.

EL CAPITAN GENERAL

There was a Captain General who ruled in Vera Cruz,
And what we used to hear of him was always evil news;
He was a pirate on the sea—a robber on the shore:
The Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

There was a Yankee skipper who round about did roam,
His name was Stephen Folger and Nantucket was his home,
And having gone to Vera Cruz he had been skinned full sore
By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

But having got away alive, though all his cash was gone,
He said, “If there is Vengeance, I will surely try it on!
And I do wish I may be damned if I don't clear the score
With Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!”

He shipped a crew of seventy men—well-arméd men were they,
And sixty of them in the hold he darkly stowed away,
And sailing back to Vera Cruz was sighted from the shore,
By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

With twenty-five soldados he came on board so pleased
And said: “Maldito Yankee—again your ship is seized.
How many sailors have you got?” Said Folger, “Ten—no more,”
To the Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

“But come into my cabin and take a glass of wine,
I do suppose as usual, I'll have to pay a fine;
I have got some old Madeira and we'll talk the matter o'er—
My Capitan Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.”

And as over that Madeira the Captain General boozed,
It seemed to him as if his head was getting quite confused,
For it happened that some morphine had travelled from “the store”
To the glass of Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

“What is it makes the vessel roll? What sounds are these I hear?
It seems as if the rising waves were beating on my ear!”
“Oh it is the breaking of the surf—just that and nothing more,
My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!”

The Governor was in a sleep which muddled all his brains,
The seventy men had got his gang and put them all in chains,
And when he woke the following day he could not see the shore,
For he was out on the blue water—the Don San Salvador.

“Now do you see that yard-arm—and understand the thing?”
Said Captain Folger, “For all from that yard-arm you shall swing,
Or forty thousand dollars you must pay me from your store,
My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.”

The Capitano took a pen—the order he did sign,
“O Señor Yankee!—but you charge amazing high for wine!”
But 'twas not till the draft was paid they let him go ashore,
El Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

The greatest sharp some day will find another sharper wit,
It always makes the devil laugh to see a biter bit;
It takes two Spaniards any day to come a Yankee o'er:
Even two like Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

And when this tale was told, another man
Cried out, “I'll swear 'tis true as true can be,
Unto his health we'll have all round a can!
For Captain Folger is well known to me.
Now I will sing ‘first lines’ of ‘Uncle Sam,’
And he who can shall add at once a second,
I'll call you one by one—now here I am,
And he who balks shall be the loser reckoned,
And pay for drinks all round”—
“All right,” they roared,
“Now then begin, for we are all on board!”

UNCLE SAM

When there's rain and shine together,
Chorus.
Yo heave ho!
Uncle Sam is in the weather:
Chorus.
Yo heave ho!

When the sun shines through a fog,
Yo heave ho!
Uncle Samuel drinks his grog:
Yo heave ho!

When the blue sky shows in pieces,
Yo heave ho!
Those are Uncle Samuel's breeches:
Yo heave ho!

When a cloud is low and flat,
Yo heave ho!
That is Uncle Samuel's hat:
Yo heave ho!

When the wind is loud and bad,
Yo heave ho!
Then Old Sam is getting mad:
Yo heave ho!

When the wind begins to bellow,
Yo heave ho!
Uncle Sam is in the cellar:
Yo heave ho!

When the sky is clean and red,
Yo heave ho!
Uncle Sam is gone to bed:
Yo heave ho!

When you hear the wind a-roaring,
Yo heave ho!
That is Uncle Sam a-snoring:
Yo heave ho!

When you see the lightning spooning,
Yo heave ho!
Then old Uncle Sam's harpooning:
Yo heave ho!

When you hear the wind a-barking,
Yo heave ho!
Uncle Sam has gone a-sharking:
Yo heave ho!

When you see a santo-corpus,
Yo heave ho!
Uncle Sam is arter a porpus:
Yo heave ho!

When the water gabbles too much,
Yo heave ho!
Uncle Sam is talking Dutch:
Yo heave ho!

When the sea hawk's scream is heard,
Yo heave ho!
He wants to know if there's Dutch on board:
Yo heave ho!

When the wind's before the rain,
Yo heave ho!
Soon you can make sail again:
Yo heave ho!

“Belay that song I say—'tis gettin' weary:”
Cried out a voice, “Let's change to Mother Carey!”

MOTHER CAREY

With the wind old Mother Carey,
Yo ho oh!
Churns the sea to make her dairy:
Yo ho oh!

When you see a storm a-brewin',
Yo ho oh!
That is Mother Carey's doin':
Yo ho oh!

When you see Mother Carey's chickens,
Yo ho oh!
Then look out to catch the dickens!
Yo ho oh!

When you hear the icebergs rattle,
Yo ho oh!
Those are Mother Carey's cattle:
Yo ho oh!

When you see them split—a-halving,
Yo ho oh!
Then Mother Carey's cows are calving:
Yo ho oh!

When you see a flying fish,
Yo ho oh!
Lose no time but make your wish:
Yo ho oh!

Irish pennons when they're flying,
Yo ho oh!
Set old Mother Carey crying:
Yo ho oh!

When the sea-gulls dip for slush,
Yo ho oh!
Mother Carey stirs the mush:
Yo ho oh!

When one sea-gull follows you,
Yo ho oh!
Mother Carey soon makes it two:
Yo ho oh!

When the sea-gulls fly by two,
Yo ho oh!
Soon good luck will come to you:
Yo ho oh!

When the sea-gulls fly by threes,
Yo ho oh!
Soon you'll have a spanking breeze:
Yo ho oh!

If seven follow you into port,
Yo ho oh!
There the sailors'll have good sport:
Yo ho oh!

When a rope trails in the water,
Yo ho oh!
That is Mother Carey's garter:
Yo ho oh!

When the clouds are red as roses,
Yo ho oh!
Those are Mother Carey's posies:
Yo ho oh!

If you want to win your Mary,
Yo ho oh!
Throw out a biscuit to Mother Carey:
Yo ho oh!

And so they would have chantyd all night long,
But some one broke it with another song.

THE BIRD CREW

The Albatross
Is the captain and boss,
Haul away boys, haul away!
The sea-gull queers
Are the officeers,
Haul away boys, haul away!
And the Carey chickens as I guess
Is every one an A.B.S.,
Haul away boys, haul away!

“I've heard,” said Chapin, “many folk agree,
Those birds are souls of sailors lost at sea,

And often one around the vessel flies
To give us warning ere the storms arise.”

“Talkin' of spirits in the vasty deep,”
Said Ezra Bullard, late of Marblehead,
“There's one at least who never goes to sleep,
And mighty little good of him is said;
His special dispensation is to watch
The bottom of the ocean, and to see
It don't fall out—for if it did we catch
The very direst kind of misery,
For all the water runnin' through the hole
Would leave it dry as you can understand,
And from the Arctic to the 'tother pole,
'Twould be one thunderin' lot of empty land.”
And thereupon in his south-wester tones
He let us have the song of Davy Jones.

DAVY JONES

Down in the sea among sand and stones,
There lives the old fellow called Davy Jones.

When storms come up he sighs and groans,
And that is the singing of Davy Jones.

His chest is full of dead men's bones,
And that is the locker of Davy Jones.

Davy is Welsh you may hear by his tones,
For a regular Welsher is Davy Jones.

Whenever a fish gets drowned, he moans,
So tender-hearted is Davy Jones.

Thousands of ships the old man owns,
But none go a-sailing for Davy Jones.

“Well—since you talk o' the bottom of the sea,”
Said Enoch Doolittle of Salem town,
“I know a yarn that beats you full and free,
Because, d'ye know, it takes you deeper down,
And if you're taken down—of course you're beat.”
“That's so,” cried all, “so now your yarn repeat!”
“All right,” quoth Doolittle, “I'll serve it hot,
Because, d'ye see, it's called The Devil's Pot.
But 'fore I dive into the salty brine,
Give me a gill of white New England wine!
Take one all round to benefit the pub.
Now for the bottom of the pickle tub.”

THE DEVIL'S POT

There's a place where you see the Atlantic heave
Like water boiling hot;
Where you come with grief and with joy you leave,
And they call it the Devil's Pot.

Now there was a witch in the good old time,
And she had such power, they say,
Through rocks or stones or sand or lime,
She could always make her way.

One night on a broom she went with a whirr;
The devil he saw her fly,

And the devil he fell in love with her
As she went sailing by.

She flew like the devil to scape away,
And the devil so did he,
And she jumped from her broom without delay
And she dived to the bottom of the sea.

And she bored a hole when she got down,
And round and round she twirled,
And closed it behind as she went on,
Till she went straight through the world.

And the devil he dived in the water deep,
And he made it boil like pitch
As he roared and raved with many a leap,
But he never could find the witch.

And still he stirs it by night and day,
And seeks and finds her not;
And that is the reason, the sailors say,
Why it's called the Devil's Pot.

“They say that there are witches everywhere,”
Said Jones of Chesapeake, “a livin' free;
Some in the rocks, some flyin' in the air,
And some, in course, like fishes in the sea.
I've often heard strange voices in the night—
They wan't no birds I'll swer, nor any sitch—
One called me once by name; it gim'me fright—
And that I'm sartin was a water-witch.
One can't in nat'ral wise account for that,
All you can call it is a Mr. E---
But there are witches, I will bet a hat;
And so I'll sing the song of One, Two, Three,
Fust drinkin' all your healths,”—no more he said,
But in a good round voice went straight ahead:

The Devil's Pot is a place on the North Atlantic route where, according to sailors, there is always bad weather.

ONE, TWO, THREE

I saw three witches as the wind blew cold
In a red light to the lee;
Bold they were and over-bold
As they sailed over the sea;
Calling for One, Two, Three!
Calling for One, Two, Three!
And I think I can hear
It a-ringing in my ear,
A-calling for the One, Two, Three.

And clouds came over the sky,
And the wind it blew hard and free,
And the waves grew bold and over-bold
As we sailed over the sea;

Howling for One, Two, Three!
Howling for their One, Two, Three!
Oh I think I can hear
It a-ringing in my ear,
A-howling for their One, Two, Three!

And the storm came roaring on,
Such a storm as I never did see,
And the storm it was bold and over-bold,
And as bad as a storm could be;
A-roaring for its One, Two, Three!
A-howling for its One, Two, Three!
Oh I think I can hear
It a-howling in my ear,
A-growling for its One, Two, Three!

And a wave came over the deck,
As big as a wave could be,

And it took away the captain and the mate and a man:
It had got the One, Two, Three!
And it went with the One, Two, Three!
Oh I think I can hear
It a-rolling in my ear,
As it went with the One, Two, Three.

This being cheered, I said, “Some time ago
I made a song in the Italian tongue
About a witch and pirate—which for you
Shall, if you like, be now in English sung.
“No, give it first,” cried Saltonstall, “by jingo!
In its own nateral, Eyetalian lingo;
What I don't know of it ain't worth a cent;
Even to Rome I several times have went,
In Naples, too, I've had full many a turn
And know old Spartivento like a dern;
And most of us, I reckon—though we're Yankee—
Can go the Dago, or some lingua frankey.

We ain't so ignorant of what we know;
So go ahead, Signor—prestissimo!
Ef we don't catch the sense 'twill be a pity.”—
So thus encouraged I began my ditty:

LA BELLA STREGA

Era una bella strega
Che si bagnava alla riva;
Vennero i pirati,
Lei presero captiva.

Il vento era in poppa,
Sull' onde la nave ballò,
La donna lacrimante
Al capitan parlò:

“O Signor Capitano!
O Capitan' del mar!

Daro cento ducati
Se tu mi lasci andar!”

“Non prenderò cento ducati,
Tu costi molto più,
Io te vendrò al Sultano,”
Disse il Capitano
“Per mille zecchini d' oro
Vi stimi troppo giù.”

“Non vuoi i cento ducati.
Ebben, tu non gli avrai,
Ho un' amante amato
Non mi abbandona mai.”

Essa sedé sul ponte,
Principiò a cantar:
“Vieni il mio amante!”
Da lontano il vento
Si mette a mugghiar.

Forte e più forte
La tempesta ruggio:
Gridava il Capitano:
“Io credo che il tuo amante
E il vento che corre innante,
Ovvero il diavolo.”

Forte e più forte
La procella urlò:
“Sono roccie davanti,
E il vento vien di dietro,
Ben venuto sei tu, mio amante!”
La bella donna cantò.

“Vattene al tuo amante
All' inferno a cantar!”
Disse il Capitano,
E gettò la donna fuori
Della nave nel mar.

Ma come un gabbiano
Sull' onde essa voló:
“O mio Capitano!
Non sarai appiccato,
Ma sarai annegato;
Per sempre addio!”

“That's derned good Dago,” cried Jack Saltonstall;
Blamed ef I didn't understand it all.
For the best songs are easiest understood:
Now then let's hear if t'other side's as good!
A song is like a bird—'cos birds do sing—
So carve us out the second breast and wing;
And with your anthem bid our hearts rejoice:”
Encouraged thus I lifted up my voice.

THE BEAUTIFUL WITCH

A pretty witch was bathing
By the beach one summer day;
There came a boat with pirates
Who carried her away.

The ship had a breeze behind her,
Over the waves went she!
“O Signor Capitano,
O Captain of the Sea!
I'll give you a hundred ducats,
If you will set me free!”

“I will not take a hundred;
You're worth much more, you know:

I'll sell you to the Sultan
For a thousand golden sequins:
You put yourself far too low.”

“You will not take a hundred,
Very well then, let them be!
But I have a constant lover
Who, as you may discover,
Will never abandon me.”

On the deck, before the rover,
The witch began to sing:
“Oh come to me, my lover!”
And the wind as it stole over
Began to howl and ring.

Louder and ever louder
Became the tempest's roar,
The captain in a passion

Thus at the lady swore:
“I believe that your windy lover
Is the devil and nothing more!”

Wilder and ever wilder
The tempest raged and rang,
“There are rocks ahead, and the wind dead aft,
Thank you, my love!” the lady laughed
As unto the wind she sang.

“Oh go with your cursed lover
To inferno to sing for me!”
So cried the angry captain,
And threw the lady over
To sink in the stormy sea.

But changing into a sea-gull
Over the waves she flew.
“O capitain, captain bold,” sang she,

“'Tis true you've missed the gallows tree,
But now you'll drown in the foaming sea,
O captain, forever adieu!”

“Talkin' of witches and magicianers,”
Cried out Jack Saltonstall of Newbury port,
“They are the devil's own parishioners,
And I knew one of a peculiar sort,
Because he was a sailor—had he been
A lawyer, now, it wouldn't seem so queer:
For conjurers 'mong us ain't often seen,
And he was of the kind who ain't small beer,
Possessing cash enough to roll in bliss:
However that may be, the story's this.”

THE WITCH'S BOX

Once when I went upon a trip
Likewise to the Southern sea,
We had a man upon the ship
And a wonderful man was he.

A handsomer man I never did spy,
At home or in any port;
But there was something in his eye
Of a most peculiar sort.

And all in Trinidado's port
Was a woman fair and rich,
With her my messmate did consort,
And I heard she was a witch.

Her eyes, like his, had a greenish glare,
They seemed to be quite of a level,
And the general look of the loving pair
Was exactly the look of the devil.

Now when it was time to up and lift,
And the ship must leave the docks,
He came aboard with her parting gift,
A brown little wooden box.

Now this man had hardly a shirt to his back,
When he started on this trip,
And the mate declared that such a Jack
Was a regular shame to the ship.

Then this man he winked a dreadful wink,
And said to the mate, “I'll be floored:
But I've got more clothes in my box, I think,
Than all of the men on board.”

Now his box was only one foot square,
And what was our surprise
When he opened it and pulled out a pair
Of shirts before our eyes!

Next came a hat and a jacket blue,
With trousers of the best,
For everything was nice and new,
And so on with all the rest.

And when he was drest, all spick and span,
We observed upon our oaths
That we didn't believe even our old man
Had got such a suit of clothes.

Twenty-four hours arter, I heard him say,
And I thought it was very strange:
“I never wear my clothes but a day
And now it is time to change.

“I make you a gift on 'em fair and plain,
With a quid of tobacco to boot.”
Sayin' this he opened his box again,
And pulled out another new suit.

And the same thing happened the very next day,
At about the very same bells,
He took off his second suit so gay,
And gave it to somebody else.

So it happened every day again,
Till he'd rigged us all from his store;
And such a dandy lot of men
Were never in a ship before.

Then we never had any scrimmages
For fear of spilin' our slops:
We looked like the graven images
Before the tailors' shops.

But a man named Knox from Edinboro toun,
Always took the thing amiss,
And often remarked with a doubtful frown:
“There is something eereligious in this!”

So one day when our friend had opened his box,
Before we could prevent,
Up behind him came Mr. Knox
And dropped in his New Testament.

There came a flash of lightning bright,
And an awful thunder's roar,
And the box and the sailor went clean out o' sight,
And we never beheld 'em more.

And all to ashes and all to wreck
Went our clothes, and we looked forlorn,
For there we were standing on the deck
As naked as we were born!

And this is the lesson short and small,
Which we learned from our liberal friend,
That the things which cost you nothing at all
Never come to any good in the end.

And when the laugh at this had died away,
Mose Brown of Bristol in the whaling line
Said: “Mermaids are the witches of the sea,
Which in good looks are really superfine.
And on this subject I will give a song,
Which I daresay you all already know,
But anyway it isn't very long,
Though it was made a hundred years ago,
I guess that mermaids were much plentier then;
Perhaps they're scared of steamboats and the swell
Which drives the fish as foxes do a hen—
So like the steamers I will now propel.”

THE MERMAID

One Friday morning we set sail
It was not far from land,
When I espied a fair mermaid,
With a comb and a glass in her hand.

Chorus.

And the raging winds do blow, blow, blow,
And the raging winds do blow;
And we poor sailors climbing up aloft,
And the land lubbers lying down below.

Then up spoke the boy of our gallant ship
And a well-spoken boy was he:

“I've a mother and father in London town,
And this night they will weep for me.”

Then up spoke the captain of our gallant ship,
And a well-spoken man was he:
“I've a wife who is living in Liverpool town,
A wife whom I never shall see.”

“My wife who is living in Liverpool town
This night will be looking for me;
She may look till the sun no more goes down,
She may look to the bottom of the sea.”

Then three times around went our gallant ship,
And three times around went she;
And three times around was the end of her trip,
When she sank to the bottom of the sea.”

There may be a few readers to whom it is necessary to point out that this first ballad of the “Mermaid” is an old song, here used as introduction to a second by me, which is of the same nature.

THE MERMAN

Then another man said when that song was sung:
There are men like you and me,
Who will sometimes come ashore and get sprung,
Yet who live at the bottom of the sea.

For I myself knew one of that folk
(I believe he still lives and thrives),
And I'll tell you the truth without any joke
How we saved one another's blest lives.

I was walking one night in New York town,
And the moon shone bright and clear,
When I thought I heard a singular sound
That came from a board-yard near.

First was a groan of misery,
And then a scythe of pain;
And a voice which wailed: “Oh where is the Sea?
Which I never shall see again?”

And I thought that party must be cracked,
Or a little over the bay;
Because the water was not, in fact,
A half of a mile away.

So I looked that sufferin' mortal up,
And found, sufficiently soon,
A man who looked like a perishin' pup,
As he lay in the light of the moon.

And I said to him, “Matey, just confess
What all of this row's about,
And what was it got you into this mess,
And how can I get you out?”

Then this man he opened his eyes so wide:
“No more do I ask of thee
Than to carry me down to the water's side,
And chuck me right into the sea.”

And I says, “'Tis a singular thing to ask,
But I think it can be no sin,
And anyhow 'tis an easy task
To carry and pitch you in.”

So I picked that perishin' person up,
And slewed him on my back,
And he wriggled and moved with many a flup
Like a codfish or a jack.

But when I had carried him half the way,
He seemed to be half-way done,
And when we had got 'longside of the bay,
I guessed that his life was gone.

But when he heard the water splash,
He opened his eyes—you bet!
And said: “If you only will make a dash—
Good Lord! there's a chance for me yet!”

And when we came to the water's edge,
I never a word did say,
But carried him right to the end of the Ledge,
And dumped him into the Bay.

And then he gin a yell of delight,
And then he warbled a tune,
As he swam about in the water bright,
All there in the light of the moon.

And he hollered to me his partin' thanks,
And said: “I am outer my pain;
Good-bye! I'm off for the 'Foundland Banks;
Some day we shall meet again.”

Now when a year had passed I found
Myself in a Southern sea,
A-wrecked; for all on board were drowned,
And nobody saved but me.

And as I sat upon the turf,
And looked at the water blue,
A man came walking out of the surf,
And says to me: “How do you do?

“I think you don't remember me,
Allow me to let you know
I'm the fellow that you threw into the sea—
In New York—a year ago.

“My home is down in the Ocean deep,
And sometimes—would you think?
I go ashore when men are asleep
To a tavern to take a drink.

“My mother was a mermaid fair,
She lived down in the sea;
And my father he was a Dutch sailór,
So it came that I am what I be.

“And I can walk about on land
Until my clothes are dry,
But that brings up to the end of my sand,
For then I must surely die:

“And my soul sail off for Doldrum Isle,
Unless some one pities my pain,
And carries me down where the waters bile,
And puts me in 'em again.

“One turn deserves another, ahoy!
And John must settle with Jack;
You treated me like a brother, old boy
And now I will pay you back.

“In this bag there is more than a thousand pound,
And I give it all to you:
In a Spanish galloon that money I found,
(It's a thing which I frequently do).

“But in this place you'd be sure to spile,
So now I will give you a tip:
Just walk to the other side of this isle,
And there you will find a ship.

“You'll find her there as sure as you're born;
Her name is the Clara Belle,
She sails for Havanna in the morn,
So, matey—fare-you-well!

“Farewell—for here I cannot bide.”
He turned his back to the shore,
And walked right into the risin' tide,
And I never beheld him more.

So we never should doubt of a mystery,
There are lots of 'em round us still;
For nobody knows what's down in the sea,
And nobody ever will.

Said Brown, “That story now goes home to me.
Folks say a witch, a wizard, and a Finn,
Are all jint partners in all deviltry,
The Devil himself of course bein' counted in;
And of these Northern conjurers I can sing
A song if you will join me in the chorus.
First take your drinks—that is the prudent thing,
We never know in life what lies before us.”
Which having done, himself he did begin
The wondrous ballad of the “Wizard Finn.”

THE WIZARD FINN

As I suppose, you all have heard
There's no good luck with a Finn on board,
I can tell you that is so.
I've sailed with one and I ought to know:
For it is true, upon my word,
There's no good luck with a Finn on board.

Eric Jansen was his name,
And from Christián' he came;
A seemly man all for to see,
But devil a bit the man for me:
For it is true, as all have heard,
There's no good luck with a Finn on board.

From the hour he joined the ship,
All went wrong in all the trip;
'Twas nothing but swear and growl and groan,
And the weather was just the devil's own:
You may reckon it all absurd,
But there's no good luck with a Finn on board.

Our grub was spoiled from that first hour,
Except the vinegar all was sour;
All you heard was Lubber! and Liar!
And everything hot except the fire:
For it is true, as all accord,
There's no good luck with a Finn on board.

For as the doctors all do know,
A Finn has fins between each toe:
He is web-footed like a duck;
Which is the cause of his bad luck:
For it is true, as I averred,
There's no good luck with a Finn on board.

And when at last it got so bad,
That master and men were nigh gone mad,
A rummerin' whisper did begin
That 'twas all along of this here Finn:
For it is true, and on re-córd
There's no good luck with a Finn on board.

And the long and short of this debate
Was that one night our second mate,
Bein' as mad as a man might be,
Pitched Eric Jansen into the sea:
For it is true, unless I've erred,
There's no good luck with a Finn on board.

When all at once around there came
Over the sea a greenish flame,
And the biggest whale I ever spied,
Rose up by Eric Jansen's side:
For it is true, as you may've inferred,
There's no good luck with a Finn on board.

And the Finn he got upon the whale,
And off in the flame we saw them sail;
Hearing a song as they fell behind,
Like women singing with the wind:
For it is true, as all have concurred,
There's no good luck with a Finn on board.

Off from the ship and off the shore,
And Eric Jansen we saw no more;
But from that hour, aboard that ship,
All went well for the rest of the trip:
For it is true, upon my word,
As you and I have often heard,
People may say it's all absurd,
And yet it holds as I averred,
And bein' a fact it's on recórd,
Unless the best of men have erred,
As you may truly have inferred,
In which observers have concurred:
There's no good luck with a Finn on board.

“That story of the Finn,” said one to Brown,
“Is of the kind which hev been salted down,
Which is the reason, I suppose, why you
Take such a lot of pains to prove it's true.
When tales are c'rect in all their fitnesses,
There ain't no need of forty witnesses,
Nor one at all I guess, but that's enough;
Now listen to the song of ‘Charley Buff,’
Who always said, ‘I am a truthful man:’”
He polished off his drink and thus began:

CHARLEY BUFF

Oh Charley Buff was his parents' joy,
And as he always told,
He went to sea as a cabin-boy
Before he was one year old.

Chorus.

Now this is pretty bad,
But it's nothin' to what's a-coming:
Yet Charley he was a truthful lad,
And never indulged in humming.

And this Charley Buff allays said to me:
“To lie I cannot afford,
For you know I hev got more truth in me
Than all of the rest on board.

“I have seen in the isle of Barriboo
Such high-sized coco-nuts,
That the natives used to split 'em in two
And use 'em to make their huts.

“I hev seen the Kanaka women
Foller a ship'n full sail,
A thousand miles a-swimmin'
For a bottle or a tenpenny nail.

“I hev seen the eggs of the toodly-wang;
It's a bird in the Muldive Isles;
And when they hatch they burst with a bang
You can hear five hundred miles.

“From a Cariboo king named Jocko,
A man of cheerful life,
For only a fid of tobacco
I bought me a beautiful wife.

“One night she was gone, by gum!
But as soon as ever I missed her,
From the king for a glass of rum
I bought her younger sister.

“One evening for their tea
Her family broiled and ate her;
‘Never mind!’ says the king to me,
‘Just go and pick out a better.’”

Chorus.

Now this is pretty bad,
Yet it's nothin' to what's a-coming;
But I hear the old man a bawlin' like mad,
So I guess I will stop my humming.

“Wal,” answered Brown, “that comes it rather strong.
Now if you like I'll sing a pirate's song
Of which you all have heard at times a bit;
I've jined 'em into one to make 'em fit,
Like beads upon a string, altho' I fear
It's partly pirate and part mutineer.”

BOLD ROBIN ROVER

Bold Robin Rover
Said to his crew:
“Up with the black flag
And down with the blue!
Up with the Black Boy!
All men to show,
Over the water
And off let us go!”

A man-of-war he hailed us:
“Come under my lee!”
“See you damned,” said the pirate,
“For I'd rather sink at sea,

In the blue water
Far out and free,
Cruising down on the shore
By the coast of Barbary.”

We met the Flying Dutchman,
By midnight he came,
His hull was all of hell fire,
His sails were all o' flame;
Fire on the main-top,
Fire on the bow,
Fire on the gun-deck,
Fire down below!

Four-and-twenty dead men,
Those were the crew,
The devil on the bowsprit
Fiddled as she flew.

We gave her a broadside
Right in the dip,
Just like a candle,
Out went the ship.

We met a gallant vessel
A-sailing on the sea,
For mercy, for mercy,
For mercy, she did plea;
But the mercy we gave her
We sunk her in the sea;
Cruising down on the shore
By the coast of Barbary,

Four-and-twenty Spaniards,
Mighty men of rank,
With their golden ladies
Had to walk the plank,

Over the gunwale
Into the sea,
Cruising down on the shore,
By the coast of Barbary.

Oh devil take the captain!
And devil take the ship!
And devil take the cargo!
And devil take the trip!
And devil take the bo'su'n!
And devil take his call!
And devil take the doctor!
And devil take 'em all!

Over the quarter,
Over the sail,
Into the water,
Dead as a nail

Slung like a biscuit,
Hot as a coal,
Where the sharks may take the body,
And the devil take the soul!

Then spoke Grim Sam of Jersey, “As we've heard
A mermaid or a witch is the same bird,
But of a different feather, so a pirate,
And slaver, is all one for guards to fire at,
For pirates kill and plunder all they catch,
And slavers at the same are just their match;
There ain't no special difference (it was said
That Sam himself well knew the Guinea trade,
And half-way to the devil had sent his soul
By running into Cuba “sacks of coal”)—
And then he sang to us right merrily
A slaver's song, which was not writ by me.

TIME FOR US TO GO

In one of his admirable papers, “At the Sign of the Ship,” published in the Cornhill Magazine, Mr. Andrew Lang, in discussing Sea Songs, wrote the following:—

“In an unpublished play by Mr. Henley and Mr. R. L. Stevenson, a play called Admiral Guinea, that veteran ruffian, Mr. Pew of Treasure Island, makes his appearance. He has been a sailor of Admiral Guinea's in the slave trade, and he haunts the evangelical and remorseful Admiral like an evil conscience, singing snatches of the following ‘Slaver's Song.’ Mr. Henley has kindly copied out the whole piece, which was published in Mr. Leland's ‘Captain Jonas Fisher’ in Temple Bar about fourteen years ago. Whether the ballad is traditional and collected by Mr. Leland, or whether to himself is due the great credit of the authorship, I am not aware.”

Truly I am not the author of the song which I picked up in Philadelphia before the War, nor do I know who wrote it. I am tolerably certain, however, that I, having slightly retouched it, republished it in Temple Bar as quoted. There are, however, others besides Mr. Lang who think I wrote it, so I give it here in order to make truth known, but chiefly because it is in keeping with other specimens of sailors' lyrical folk-lore in these pages, and will be acceptable to all who like such ballads.

With sails let fall and sheeted home, and clear of the ground were we,
We passed the bank, stood round the light, and sailed away to sea;
The wind was fair and the coast was clear, and the brig was noways slow,
For she was built in Baltimore, and 'twas time for us to go.
Time for us to go,
Time for us to go,
For she was built in Baltimore, and 'twas time for us to go.

A quick run to the West we had, and when we made the Bight,
We kept the offing all day long, and crossed the bar at night.
Six hundred niggers in the hold, and seventy we did stow,
And when we'd clapped the hatches on, 'twas time for us to go.

We hadn't been three days at sea before we saw a sail,
So we clapped on every inch she'd stand, although it blew a gale,
And we walked along full fourteen knots, for the barkie she did know,
As well as ever a soul on board, 'twas time for us to go.

We carried away the royal yards, and the stun'sle boom was gone,
Says the skipper, “They may go or stand; I'm darned if I don't crook on.
So the weather braces we'll round in, and the trys'le set also,
And we'll keep the brig three p'ints away, for it's time for us to go.”

Oh yard-arm under she did plunge in the trough of the deep seas,
And her masts they thrashed about like whips as she bowled before the breeze,
And every yard did buckle up like to a bending bow,
But her spars were tough as whalebone, and 'twas time for us to go.

We dropped the cruiser in the night, and our cargo landed we,
And ashore we went, with our pockets full of dollars, on the spree.

And when the liquor it is out, and the locker it is low,
Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, 'twill be time for us to go.
Time for us to go,
Time for us to go,
Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, 'twill be time for us to go.

“Wall,” said Mose Brown, “I 'low that that escape
From the derned cruiser was a blame close shave,
And I myself once in as bad a scrape
Was lifted out by one big thumping wave
On the same line of coast—or thereabout,
Since it was off the Bight—that's old Benin—
Where as the sayin' is, ‘but one goes out
Of all a hundred strangers who go in.’
It ain't so healthy quite—to be exact—
As 'tis in Colorado high and dry,
Where they send invalids—it is a fact—
Off to some other country for to die;
Excuse me, gents, for keepin' you so long,
Now I'll proceed to let you hev my song.”

ROLLING OVER

It was upon a Boston brig, and that was in the Fall,
Our barky she was light as a gig, for our lading was but small;
And it was in the American War as we were sailing thus,
When we saw a steamer from afar, and knew she was after us.

Chorus.

Rolling over, rolling over, rolling on.
The roaring waves they came,
Like water into fire all gone,
For the sea was all of a flame.

Now I have often seen by dark the sea a-burning bright,
But nothing did I yet remark like what it was that night,

And the wake we left behind us as we sailed for many an hour,
Was like a fiery serpent who was chasing to devour.

And then the captain made a speech to us a-standing round,
And said: “'Fore I'll be taken I'll be damned if I don't be drowned;
Yet if you will be plucky, men, and likewise well behaved,
We've got one chance in a thousand yet, but what we may be saved.

“About ten miles to leeward there lies the Guinea land,
And for fifty miles before it clear a narrow bar of sand;
And if we find a deepish place—as such of them there are—
It just is barely possible that we may clear the bar.”

Then we gave three cheers for our old man because we liked his dash,
And allowed ere we'd go to prison that we all would go to smash;
So then we set the wheel up with the steamer coming down,
And never a man did care a damn if he was going to drown.

Now as we came unto the bar I happened to remark
A spot among the waves on which the water it was dark;
And I showed it to the captain, who saw the place was fit,
And hollered to the helmsman to steer her straight for it.

Now just as we were working to this very closest shave,
There came by Heaven's mercy a tremendous booming wave,
Which gave the barky such a lift, thanks to our lucky star,
That though we felt the bottom scrape—by God we crossed the bar!

And as we came in the still water we gave three roaring cheers,
For the rebel he was locked outside—of him we had no fears;
But I never shall forget until I come unto my grave,
How we were saved on the Guinea coast by the sea-light and the wave.

Chorus.

Rolling over, rolling over, rolling on.
The roaring waves they came,
Like water into fire all gone,
For the sea was all of a flame.

Quoth Nat of Stonington, “That is a bruiser,
And yet I know darn'd well it could be done
With the third wave—but talking of a cruiser,
I know a song—'tis just a little one—
But first I would observe that a muskeeter
Is not an insect, for as you should know
The term's applied unto a different creeter,
Which sails about the Gulf of Mexico.
Sometimes the thing is called a guard-accoster,
And when one did accost us with a gun,
Out of the way we ginerally tost her;
It ain't hard work to make a greaser run.
Well, that'll do. We got a song before us,
And them as likes may holler in the chorus.”

This ballad was very much revised, corrected, turned over, and re-turned, by sundry old sailors, chief among whom was the ancient mariner, Captain Stead. Almost the same could be said of all these songs, but this one was specially “cut up and salted down for sea use.”

Guarda Costa.

THE MUSQUITO

Said Paul unto Peter,
“I see a muskeeter,
The boat's coming over the bay.”
Said Peter to Paul,
“She is saucy, though small,
And the captain is sailing away.”

Said Paul unto Peter,
“Confound the old creetur,
The boat's coming over the bay.”
Said Peter to Paul,
“We will soon make her squall,
And the captain is sailing away.”

Said Paul unto Peter,
“We'll bang her and beat her!
The boat's coming over the bay.”
Said Peter to Paul,
“Set stun'sles and all,
And the captain is sailing away.”

Said Paul unto Peter,
“We'll give her short metre,
The boat's coming over the bay.”
Said Peter to Paul,
“Give her powder and ball,
And the captain is sailing away.”

Said Paul unto Peter,
“We'll roast her and eat her,
The boat's coming over the bay.”
Said Peter to Paul,
“We will gobble them all,
And the captain is sailing away!”

“Now, 'fore we fairly get into the Gulf,”
Said Saltonstall, “and fall into its tide,
Which swallows up so many like a wolf,
I'll sing a song about a place outside,
Where a thing once took place which was a wonder—
I mean the story of ‘Old Stand from Under.’”

STAND FROM UNDER!

I was sailing in a vessel a long time ago,
All the while dead against us the wind used to blow,
And it seemed as if abroad us that nothing would go right,
When over the Bahamas a-sailing by the night.

Chorus.

By the night, by the night,
When over the Bahamas a-sailing by the night.

In the dark, up in the rigging, or somewhere on high,
“Hallo! Stand from under!” a voice used to cry;

But the Being who hallooed it was always out of sight,
When over the Bahamas a-sailing by the night.

On that gloomy haunted vessel, and all among her crew,
Was a dark and silent sailor whom no one ever knew;
And the Voice it called the loudest when that seaman came to light,
When over the Bahamas a-sailing by the night.

And we said to him one midnight when we heard it worst of all,
“Your friend there in the rigging is giving you a call.”
Then he looked up above him with such bitterness and spite,
When over the Bahama Isles a-sailing by the night.

When the Voice with “Stand from under!” once again to him salamed,
He hallooed back like thunder: “Let go then and be damned!”
Like a man in desperation who expects a cruel fight,
All over the Bahamas a-sailing by the night.

And as the word was spoken—like coming to a beck—
A something came a-whizzing and fell down upon the deck,
And the body of a mariner was there before our sight,
All over the Bahama Isles a-sailing by the night.

And looking at the dead man, he said: “I do declare!
An hour's sail from Cuba I stabbed that fellow there.
And now he always haunts me, though I killed him fair, in fight,
All over the Bahama Isles a-sailing by the night.”

“But the devil a bit of fear have I of dead or living men,
I've lifted him before and I can lift him up again,
And pitch him in the water, and sink him out of sight,
All over the Bahamas a-sailing by the night.”

He grappled with the dead man in spite of all our cries,
When life and awful anger came in the corpse's eyes;
It tore him to the toffrail and held him deadly tight,
All over the Bahama Isles a-sailing by the night.

And overboard together in a grapple went the two,
And downward sunk before us into the water blue;
But in and all around them shone a corpo-santo light,
All over the Bahama Isles a-sailing by the night.

But from that very minute the wind blue well and fair,
And everything went right with us when we had lost the pair;
But I always shall remember while I live that awful sight,
All over the Bahama Isles a-sailing by the night.

“Now that we're gittin' t'wards the Spanish Strand,”
Said Moses Brown, a-waving his bandana,
“I just propose that first of all I land—
As all of us have done—at the 'old Havanna.
Adventures there do gin'rally abound,
The natives being all sus-ceptive creeters;
For if romance upon this airth is found,
It sartinly is 'mong the senoritas.
Though he who of 'em would advantage take,

Must be on hand and al'ays wide awake:
Quien el diablo ha de engañar
Mañana ha bien de levantar.
Meanin' that “who the devil would deceive,
Must rise uncommon early,” I believe.
That is the precious time to pick a salad,
As happened to the fellow in my ballad;
Who carried off the booty, as the Fox
Took the fair Hen from the two fighting Cocks.

NEAR HAVANNA

It was down near Havanna town, ho!
It was down near Havanna town, low,
That I saw a mortal fight,
At the coming on of night,
By the starlight a long time ago.

Two Spaniards were a-fighting for their lives,
The blades flashed like lightning up and down;
To the click and the clock of the knives,
And there stood a lady looking on.

I asked her the cause of the fray,
And she answered in Spanish: “Oh see!
They are villains who carried me away,
And now they are fighting for me.”

And I said as I looked at her face
That I hardly could blame such a theft,
“But I'll wait until one gets his grace,
Then I'll tackle with the other who is left.”

But just as I spoke, with a start,
The two leapt and fell on the sand,
For both had been stabbed to the heart
And each had his death out of hand.

So I and the donna were friends,
And that of the kindest and best;
Now here this true history ends,
And you must imagine the rest.

And 'twas all near Havanna town, ho!
It was down by Havanna town, low,
That I saw this mortal fight,
At the coming on of night,
By the starlight a long time ago.

There sat a stranger there whom no one knew,
Who did not seem a follower of the sea,
And yet no stranger surely to the Blue,
Who now politely spoke the company,
Saying unto them: “Mates, 'tween you and me,
I put it as a question—don't you think
That it is pretty near time to take a drink?
And if you do belong to Gideon's Band,

Then here's my purse to pay—and here's my hand”—
There was a roar of laughter loud and long,
And then the stranger burst into a song;
But for a minute were they all so gay,
For with the words their laughter died away.

THE THREE DEAD MEN

Los tres Muertos

Ever so far and far away,
Down in the hollow by the bay,
Where the beach is dry and the rocks are high,
Under the sand three dead men lie.
There they lie alow, low, low,
Nor hear the cockrel's crow.
Where the palm-trees are a-growing, and the wind is ever blowing,
There they lie alow, low, low.

One was drowned in yonder sea,
One was shot as it may be,
One was left on the beach to die,
But all in the hollow sleeping lie.
There they lie alow, low, low,
Nor wake at the cockrel's crow.
Where the palm-trees are a-growing, and the wind is ever blowing,
There they lie alow, low, low.

Sometimes when the moon is bright
You can see the three, like gulls in flight,
Flitting along above the waves,
Or sitting and talking on their graves,
Where they lie alow, low, low,
Nor hear the cockrel's crow.
Where the palm-trees are a-growing, and the wind is ever blowing,
There they lie alow, low, low.

There was a pause—when some one merrily
Struck up a song which all have known of old;

How Billy Taylor's sweetheart went to sea,
And how she fought in an engagement bold:
And as the talk ran on of female sailors
Who've gone to sea in men-of-war, or whalers,
Until I spoke and said: “I know a lay
About a Spanish lady, old lang syne,
Who, as a sailor, wished to sail away—
The words are by another and not mine:”

THE LADY-SAILOR

I'll go in yon boat, my mother,
Oh yes! in yon boat I'll go;
I'll go with the mariner, mother,
And I'll be a mariner too.

Ay, ay, ay, verdadero,
Ay, ay, con el marinero!
And I'll be a mariner too!

Mother, there's no refusing,
What true love demands I must do;
In love there's no picking and choosing,
So I'll be a mariner too.
Ay, ay, verdadero,
Ay, ay, con el marinero,
And I'll be a mariner too!

“I like those Spanish songs,” the stranger said:
“Many I've heard and many I have read,
And if you like I'll give you one in rhyme,
By Gil Vincente of the oldest time,
Which holds its own, and bravely, one may say,
For Spanish sailors sing it to this day.”

Irme quiero, madre,
En aquella galera
Con el marinero
Por ser marinera.

THE SPANISH SAILOR'S SONG

If you're sleeping, my dear,
Wake and open to me!
For the hour is at hand
When afar we must flee.

If your white feet are bare
Still no longer delay;
For deep are the waters
Which roll in our way.

The waters so deep
Of the Guadalquivír;

The hour is at hand,
We must wander, my dear.

'Tis strange, he added, how our land, in truth,
As it goes Southward seems to turn to youth,
And with a softer sun all words are sung—
As things are warmed—into the Spanish tongue:
I've given you a song, let's have another;
“Well, I know one,” I said, “which seems its brother,
Although, compared to yours, it's nearer zero,
In Spanish, Digas tu el marinero!”

Si dormis, donçella,
Despertad y abrid,
Que venida es la hora,
Si quereis partir.

Si descalza estais
No querais calzar,
Que muchas las aquas
Teneis de pasar—

Las aguas tan hondas
De Guadalquivir;
Que venida es la hora
Si teneis partir.

THE LOVER TO THE SAILOR

Now tell me this, my sailor boy,
As sure as you love your wine,
Oh did you ever see a ship
As trim as that girl of mine?

And you who've been in many a gale,
And stood on many a deck;
Oh did you ever see a sail
As white as my true love's neck?

And you who have been where the red rose blows
In many a Southern place,
Oh did you ever see a rose
Like those in my sweetheart's face?

Here's a cheer for the women with jet black curls,
Of Spain or of Portugal!
And seven for the Yankee and English girls,
The prettiest of them all!

“Wall now,” cried Jones, “I railly must admit,
Them Spanish songs of yourn hev taste and wit;
But as I'm gettin' hungry, what is upper
In me just now is that I want my supper;
And while it's cookin', till they bring the tub,
I'll sing you how a sailor lost his grub.”

GREEN CORN AND POTATOES

Oh I once was in love like a sinner,
And the girl she was hahn'some and tall,
She said she would cook me a dinner
Of corn and potatoes and all.

In a pot she put ham and potatoes,
One chicken, and that not too small;
With gumbos and good red tomatoes,
And beans and some oysters and all.

On a rock by the river she cooked it,
When there came up a devil of a squall;
And into the water it hooked it,
With the corn and potatoes and all.

The ham and the beans and potatoes
All went in that devil of a squall,
With the chicken and big red tomatoes,
And carrots and oysters and all.

Then hurrah, boys! Hurrah for the Union!
And the banner which waves from the wall;
Likewise for the parsnip and onion,
Green corn and potatoes and all!

The gumbos, the greens, and the carrots—
Likewise for the monkeys and parrots,
And corn and potatoes and all!

Here John of Baltimore spoke out: said he—
“Mates, you must know I'm goin' to leave the sea;
I've had a fortune left me, as I learn,
So now I guess I give the land a turn.
I am not one who a sea-life belittles,
But do confess I cannot stand the vittles:
You may correct me if you think I'm wrong;
But first I'll give my sentiments in song:”

THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL

Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!
For I am going home,
To keep me warm and dry,
No more on the seas to roam.

Roast beef and turkey free,
And likewise chicken-pie,
Salt junk—farewell to thee!
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

I'm going to the land
Where ham and eggs they fry;
Veal cutlets are on hand;
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

Roast duck doth there abound,
And mince and apple-pie
In stacks is lyin' round;
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

I smell the rich roast goose,
A second slice I'll try;
A third I shan't refuse;
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

Planked shad is very fine;
I'm in for living high,
On terrapins with wine;
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

I seek my native soil,
For soft-shell crabs I sigh,
And oysters on the broil;
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

Unto the canvas-back
Myself I will apply,
And hickory nuts I'll crack;
Of chinquapins no lack;
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

The buckwheat-cake shall boom,
The Jersey sausage fry;
Amid green corn I'll bloom,
And hominy consume;
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

I see the cranberry sauce,
All with my mental eye;
Plum-pudding I will boss;
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

Venison on chafing-dish,
With jelly, by the bye,

Coffee and fresh cat-fish;
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

I'll soon be on the strand
Where luscious reed birds fly;
My own—my Maryland—
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

Old Ocean with thy foam,
For thee no more I sigh;
For I am going home!
Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!

“That bill o' fare,” cried Abner Chapin, loud,
“Is pitched too high for this here Northern crowd:
New England rum, I spose, seems rather meek
'Longside peach-brandy down in Chesapeake.

I don't de-cry your vittles, by no means,
But I prefer a pot of pork and beans
To all the canvas-backs that ever flew,
With soft-shell crabs and reed birds thereunto.
And all burnt offerins of fries of lambs
Ain't worth a dish of good Rhode Island clams;
And all your Spanish mackerel, my man,
Worth one good mackerel caught off Cape Ann!”
“Talkin' of mackerel”—Here Peter Young
Broke off this sermon with the “Mackerel Song.”

MACKEREL SIGNS

Mackerel clouds and mares' tails
A-sailing, a-trailing,
Make lofty ships carry low sails
A-sailing, a-trailing away.

When the mack'rel are in the sky,
A-sailing, a-trailing;
Soon the wind will be blowing high:
A-sailing and trailing away.

When the mack'rel shine in the moon,
A-sailing, a-trailing;
Then the wind will begin to tune:
A-sailing, a-trailing away.

Of all the wind upon the seas,
A-sailing, a-trailing;
The best is an evening mackerel breeze:
A-sailing and trailing away.

“A mackerel is a sailor-dish,”
Said Jones, “for 'tis a sailor fish,
All drest, like us, in white and blue,

Which I do call the prettiest hue
Which the great heaven has to show
Of all the colours in the bow:
So, if you please, I'll sing to you
A little song about the Blue!”

TRUE BLUE

Blue is the sea we sail on,
And blue is the sky above,
And blue are the eyes
As sea or skies
Of the maiden whom I love:
And blue is the flag we're under,
And blue is the coat I wear;
But brighter the blue,
And deeper the hue

In the eyes which I hold so dear!
Bluer and brighter and sweeter,
Fonder and fair and as true;
Oh it's blue love and true love for ever!
And God bless the beautiful blue!

Now supper being over, every man
Lighted his pipe or called for a cigar,
Lolled in his chair—and all again began
To order “something lively” from the bar.
Jack Saltonstall, intent on keeping peace,
Waved a great South Sea club, and said, “I'm sent
By Providence to act as your police;”
And at the table sat as President.
He was a man of pleasing dignity,
And all allowed he would a captain be,
Calming all quarrels with a word and wink;
He had hot rum and lemon for his drink.
And as he sat in state, with the club of peace
Which he had taken from the chimney-piece,

He said to us: “What tales this bat could tell
Of many a battle—many a busted shell,
And murdered victims by the surfy shore,
And cani-bally feasts when all was o'er!”

Quoth Sam of Jersey, “I hev seen such things
Among them natives, ordered by their kings,
As well might make a common pirate weep,
And the old devil feel uncommon cheap:
Such derned, infernal deeds, and parst all showin',
Pirates and slavers ain't the worst folk goin'.
There's things to which the worst they do is slow;
I've lived among 'em an I ort to know.
And yet among those natives there are some
As mild as lambs, and good and humoursome;
Who never fight no more than an old hen,
Such difference there is in mortal men.
I'll tell you now a tale, to make you sport,
Of one who chanced among this gentle sort.

THE STORY OF SAMUEL JACKSON

I'll tell you of a sailor now, a tale that can't be beat,
His name was Samuel Jackson, and his height was seven feet;
And how this man was shipwrecked in the far Pacific Isles,
And of the heathen natives with their suppositious wiles.

I once crossed the Atlantic in a sailing-vessel, sharing my state-room with a veteran sea-captain who had been for forty years in the whaling service. He had an inexhaustible stock of sea-folk-lore, which he freely imparted to me who was an eager listener, and as the voyage lasted thirty-five days I had opportunity to gather much. I am indebted to him for this amusing interchange of words. When telling me that he once went incognito to revisit his old home in Connecticut he said, “I passed under a superstitious name.”

Now when the others cut the ship, because she was a wreck,
They left this Samuel Jackson there, a-standin' on the deck—
That is, a standin' on the deck, while sittin' on the boom;
They wouldn't let him in the boat 'cos he took up too much room.

When up there came a tilted wave, and like a horse it romped,
It fell like mountains on the boat, and so the boat was swamped;

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And of those selfish mariners full every one was drowned,
While Samuel, standing on the deck, beheld it safe and sound.

Now when the sea grew soft and still, and all the gale was o'er,
Sam Jackson made himself a raft, and paddled safe ashore.
For fear of fatal accidents—not knowin' what might come,
He took a gun and matches, with a prudent cask of rum.

Now this island where he landed proved as merry as a fife,
For its indigents had ne'er beheld a white man in their life;
Such incidents as rum and guns they never yet had seen,
And likewise, in religion, they were awful jolly green.

But they had a dim tradition, from their ancestors, in course,
Which they had somehow derived from a very ancient source:
How that a god would come to them, and set the island right;
And how he should be orful tall, and likewise pearly white.

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Now when they saw this Samuel approachin' on his raft,
The news through all the island shades was quickly telegrapht,
How all their tribulations would speedily be past,
'Cos the long-expected sucker was invadin' 'em at last.

Now when Sam Jackson stept ashore, as modest as you please,
Nine thousand bloomin' savages received him on their knees;
He looked around in wonderment, regardin' it as odd,
Not bein' much accustomed to be worshipped as a god.

But he twigged the situation, and with a pleasin' smile
Stretched out his hands, a-blessin' all the natives of the isle;
He did it well, although his paws were bigger than a pan,
Because he was habitual a most politeful man.

So to return their manners, and nary-wise for fun,
He raised himself with dignity, and then fired off his gun:
So all allowed that he must be one of the heavenly chaps,
Since he went about with lightning and dispensed with thunderclaps.

102

They took him on their shoulders, and he let it go for good,
And went into their city in the which a temple stood,
And sot him on the altar, and made him their salams,
And brought him pleasant coco-nuts, with chickens, po and yams.

And from that day henceforward, in a captivating style,
He relegated, as he pleased, the natives of that isle;
And when an unbeliever rose—as now and then were some,
He cured their irreligion with a little taste of rum.

He settled all their business, and he did it very well,
So everything went booming like a blessed wedding bell;
Eleven lovely feminines attended to his wants,
And a guard of honour followed him to all his usual haunts.

Now what mortal men are made of, that they can't put up with bliss,
I do not know, but this I know, that Sam got tired of this;
He wished that he was far away, again aboard a ship,
And all he thought of—night and day—was givin' 'em the slip.

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And so one night when all was still and every soul asleep,
He got into a good canoe and paddled o'er the deep,
But oh the row the natives made, when early in the morn
They came to worship Samuel, and found their god was gone!

Then Samuel travelled many days, but had the luck at last
To meet a brig from Boston where he shipped before the mast;
And he gave it as his sentiments, and no one thought it odd,
He was better off as sailor than when sailing as a god.

Now many years had flown away when Samuel was forgot,
There came a ship for pearl shell unto that lonely spot;
They went into the temple, and what do you suppose
They found the natives worshipping—a suit of Samuel's clothes!

And this was the tradition of the people of the soil,
How once a great divinity had ruled upon their isle;
Four fathom tall, with eyes like fire, and such was their believin',
One night he got upon the moon—and sailed away to Heaven!

104

“Wall, it's a fact,” cried Doolittle, “I'll swear
A rover ain't contented anywhere;
But if he is a real sailor slip,
He's happiest on the hull—aboard a ship—
For there at times he has his tallest fun,
Especially if 'tis a dandy one
Where all is fine—O mateys, that's the thing!”
He raised his voice, and thus began to sing:
(While up and down he merrily did prance)
Unto the air of Dance, the Boatman, dance!

THE DANDY SHIP

We've a dandy ship
And a dandy crew;
A dandy mate
And a captain too;

105

A dandy doctor
Who's a dand' old sinner,
And a dandy darkey
To cook the dinner.

Chorus.

It's dance, sailors, dance!
It's dance, the sailors, dance!
We'll dance all night till the broad daylight,
And then go to sea in the mornin'!

We've a dandy lot
Of passengers,
Who live on chicken
And sassengers;
A dandy steward
To steer their mess;
Likewise a dandy—
Stew—ard—ess!

Chorus.

It's dance, the sailors, dance!
It's dance, the sailors, dance!
We'll dance all night till the broad daylight,
And then go to sea in the mornin'!

106

“Shiftin' and changin' it is understood,”
Said Abner Chapin, “never come to good.”
“Yes,” quoth the Stranger, “that is very true,
Who goes for many gets but very few;
Who travels zigzag makes full many a cross,
And rolling stones ne'er gather any moss;
The explanation of which word is funny:
In common Yiddish Hebrew, moss means money,
And stones are men—take Peter for a sample—
Excuse me, friends, I know of an example
Of a loose fish who changed about so long
He first became a byword, then a song,
Which I will sing you though it is distressin',
Not that you need it—as a moral lesson.”

107

JACK OF ALL TRADES

In all trades I've been a meddler,
Chorus.
Foolin' my life away:
I started life as a Yankee peddler,
Fiddlin' and foolin' away.

Didn't find the trade encouragin'
So I turned a Dey Street New York surgeon.

Next I'd a shopman for employer,
And then a Philadelphia lawyer.

After that I was a smuggler,
Then I travelled as a juggler.

Next I was a collector's dunner,
And after that an emigrant runner.

108

Then I laboured with some bakers,
Next, for a year, I joined the Shakers;

But they found me too defective,
So for a while I turned detective.

Then I tried my hand as teacher,
And next became a Blue Light preacher.

Then I was one of the ---'s editors,
But had to cut to dodge my creditors.

Faking oranges I tried next on,
Then for a while I dug as a sexton.

For seven trips I was a slaver,
Then, as a barber, I turned shaver.

After that I worked as pirate,
For all the naval sharps to fire at.

109

Then nigger minstrel, then a sorter,
Off an' on, shorthand reporter.

Then I took to readin' lectures,
And after that to paintin' pictures.

Next as drummer I did chaffer,
And then I worked as photográpher.

Then for a while I run a dairy,
And next I turned apothecāry.

Then stuck pla-cards as a billist,
And so became a patent pill-ist.

Finding all other trades deceiving,
For a time I took to thieving.

Now I'm a Pacific purser,
And don't think I can do any worser,
Foolin' my life away.

110

“Yes, that's the way,” said Jones, “that some go squandrin',
Which minds me that we too must now be wand'rin':”
“And I,” quoth Brown, “must be aboard and early;
But first of all I'm going to see my girley;
She'd blow a storm if I should fail to meet her:
She is, I vum, an awful breezy creeter,
A gale in petticoats, and one that's stinging;
I'll sing a song on that—to end our singing.
You've known the girl-wind, boys—I never doubt it;
And here's a ballad which is all about it:”

THE GIRL-WIND

A hurly-burly, hurl-wind
Is hurrying o'er the waves;
Before it runs the Girl-wind
Fresh up from the Ocean caves.

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She's the little puff who goes before
To tell of the blow that's coming,
She sounds like a hive when winter's o'er
And you hear the bees a-humming.

It's all very well when a young girl can
Come tripping along with laughter;
But not so nice when you see the old man
With a big stick coming after.
It's just the same with Everything
When pleasure runs before us,
You drink your wine and think it's fine:—
Then comes the tavern scoreus!

So we went forth upon our different ways—
And these were wide—to many a distant shore:
I to my home to put in form these lays,
And think upon this strange wild sailor-lore,
In which, to him who reads with generous heart,

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As in a museum we seem to see
The strangest relics gathered far apart—
Rude, coarse, and rough, yet touched with poetry;
Like shells and gems and coins of olden time,
And worthless stones, all hardened in a mass,
Such as I've seen, fished from the ocean's slime,
Such are these men and melodies—alas!
They all are of an age half past away.
Where is the boatswain now?—who hears his call?
And where these sailing packets once so gay?
I to myself do seem traditional
And all my youth a legend—so to say—
Yet well or ill I've done the best I could
To make in truthful song a little show
Of quaint old tales, now little understood,
Of the North End of Boston—long ago.