This was a work chantey of the black men who loaded iron ore and copper pigs on the ships in the Upper Great Lakes. The "Sam Ward" was one of the steamers which would stop in Detroit and ship a team of twenty or more black men to load copper pigs at the Keeweena Peninsula, and to unload them at their destination. Do not confuse this Ward Line with The New York and Cuba Mail, often called the "Ward."

Lyr. Add: THE WARD LINE

De cap'n's in de pilot house ringin' de bell,
Who's on the way boys, who's on de way?
'N' de mate's down 'atween decks giv'n de niggas hell!
Tell me, whar yo' goin'?

When I sign on de cap'n say,
"On dis fine ship, no wo'k all play."

De mate he say "no wo'k on de ship,
Jes' lay aroun' an' enjoy de trip."

De mate he say "one trip up de lake,
Jes' set yo' up like a plutocrate."

Ah'd rudd'r be daid 'n' a'lyin' in de san',
Dan make a'nudda trip on de "Old Black Sam."

Her smokestack's black 'n' her whis'l's brown,
'N' I wish de Lawd ah'd a'stay'd in town.

Ah don' min' wo'kin' by de light o' de moon,
If de cap'n giv' us a half-hour noon.

"Git along, der, Mose, yo' feet ain't stuck,
Jes' hump yo' back an' push dat truck."

"Git along, der, Mose, push dat truck,
By 'n' by yo' dead, 'n' yo' have good luck."

Takes tons o' coppa' t' fill dat hol',
"Step along, der, nigga, damn yo' soul."

It's wo'k all night an' wo'k all day,
An' all yo' get am not half pay.

De mate say, "Sam, I'se raise yo' pay,
Yo' now git fifty cents a day!"

Roll 'em up dat long gangplank,
It make yo' thin 'n' lean 'n' lank.

City folks, dey's gon' to bed,
But we push coppa till we's dead.

De cap'n he give us a *tub o' suds,
It burn yo' belly 'n' rot yo' guts.

Jes' one drink fum de cap'n's tin,
'N' it makes yo' feel like commit'n sin.

Black boy, tick'l dat ol' banjo,
It lif' yo' heels an' make 'em go.

It make me think o' ma Liza Lou,
When she hear music, man! What she do!

Lake Superior's col'er 'n' ice,
Fall in jes' once, freeze all yo' lice.

Lake Superior's big an' rough,
'N' fo' dis nigga, one trip's enough.

It mus' be hours pas' dinna time,
'N' boss, ah's sho' da eat'n kind.

De Ward's boun' up, de Moran's boun' down,
'N' de John M. Nichol am hawd agroun'.

De Wm. H. Stevens is a'lyin' roun' de ben',
'N' all she's doin' is a'killin' good men.

Now I'se goin' back to Detrite,
'N' no more wo'k both day 'n' night.

'N' ah's goin' way down to Mobile
Whar white man bring de nigga's meal.

'N' ah's goin' down to Baltimore,
'N ah's ain't goin' to wo'k at all no more.

*Tub o' suds- watered down liquor dosed with hot pepper.

Other couplets-

I'se a'goin' back whar de shugga' cane grow,
Who's on de way, boys, who's on de way?
I'se a'goin' far away from dis ice 'n' snow.
Tell me, whar yo' goin'?

Der come mister parson in his long black coat,
Who's on de way, boys, who's on de way?
He'll go to heav'n, a'ridin' on a goat!
Tell me whar yo' goin?

Beech an' maple, beech an' maple,
Shove dat co'd wood long's you's able.
Heard at fueling dock at Amherstburg (where the Detroit River enters Lake Erie).
With music, pp. 41-45, Walton & Grimm, 2002, "Windjammers, Songs of the Great Lakes Sailors,"

Teams of blacks coaling up steamboats and tugs at Amherstburg, Ontario, and other ports, are remembered singing the same chantey.