Chapter I: SAW three sailors synging, hey howe! (1)

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_[1] 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.

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[1]

See Appendix.

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[2]

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:

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[2] 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 volò:
“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[3]
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.

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[3] 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

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[4]

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_,[5]
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.”

-----

[4] 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.”

[5] _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 aboard 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 blew 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[6]

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!