My comment about oyster dredging comes from the song itself, which seems to date from the 1880-1890 period -- it was a one-page broadside in the bottom of an old trunk found in the basement of a house where a friend (Andy Wallace) was living in 1970. Other, more datable items in the trunk (including the song "The Cruiser Baltimore," which The Boarding Party recorded on the same album), plus the fact that the "oyster wars" (dredging vs. tonging, Eastern vs. Western Shores, Maryland vs. Virginia...) on the Bay were occurring about that time, indicated the probable age of the song. Many more details about the song are available in the album notes for the recording, "'Tis Our Sailing Time," Folk-Legacy FSI-97, which is still available as CD-97 from Folk-Legacy. It's a great album, by the way, and this song has proved to be one of the most popular of The Boarding Party's recordings.

Since the words are not in the DT, here they are:


THE SHANGHAIED DREDGER

Upon the far-off Eastern Shore an oyster-dredger lay,
With the seat wore out of his oilskin pants -- his hat had blown away.
His clothes were rather seedy, and his chance, he knew, was slim
Of ever reaching Baltimore in the pungy he was in.

Now, in spirit he could fancy himself in a restaurant again,
Ordering plates of liver for himself and Shorty McLain.
The dredgers stood around him, their eyes could scarcely see
From drinking five-cent whiskey -- oh, what a glorious spree.

CHO: Then lay me in the forepeak with my face toward Baltimore,
    Prayin' I never get shanghaied again down on the Eastern Shore,
    Where they feed you on corn dog and sourbelly twice a day,
    And you're counted a lucky dredger if you ever get your pay.

Our steward, he was a colored man, the best cook in the fleet.
At making India-rubber bread he never could be beat.
His shadow soup was excellent, and on a Christmas day
We'd eat dead duck that he'd picked up while sailing down the Bay.

And, oh, that Galway skipper I never shall forgive.
He'd halloo like a porpoise to throw away the jib.
On Sundays while at rest he'd swear, "I'm only for your good;
So come up, me little hearty, and saw up all the wood."

(CHO.)

It was on a chilly evening after working all the day,
The captain saw with his telescope the police sloop far away.
With sails trimmed aft and topsail set, our gallant pungy flew
Over to the forbidden grounds to catch a jag or two.

But scarce we'd started working when the police sloop hove in sight.
"Haul down your jib!" was his command, and then began the fight.
Our captain he hauled his pistol while the sloop to round us tried,
But we raised our dredge and made away upon the foggy tide.

(CHO.)


Enjoy!

Nancy