This is really late and not in your time frame at all, but I think it is interesting for a more contemporary comparison with regard to rowing songs. It is an article from SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE, VOLUME LXVIII, July-December, 1920, entitled "The Trail to Kaieteur", which is in British Guiana, by Eleanor Beers Lestrade (with photos).

"Sunday, May 11 (1919?)

        We, and our men and supplies were loaded into a thirty-foot boat that was to take us to the next falls at Amatuk, and we left Kangaruma soon after sunrise. The bowman stood or squatted in the bow, then came four pairs of paddlers, then Jones half asleep, then the four of us, and in the stern three paddlers and the captain, who steered. The men had short paddles that threw the water high in the air with every stroke, and clicked in unison on the gunwales of the boat.
        There was a tremendous current, and even keeping as close to the bank as we did, our progress was very slow. When we watched the water that raced past us, it seemed as if we were flying, but when we watched the bank we saw that we scarcely moved.
        One of the paddlers called out, "Water me, water me." Another splashed some water with his paddle. This meant that the first paddler had a song that he could not rest until he had sung, and the other by splashing the water showed that he was waiting with the greatest impatience to hear the song and join in the chorus. These songs, or chanteys, were very simple and monotonous in words and music, but wonderfully melodious when sun by a dozen happy, lusty blacks paddling up a tropical river. The men clicked their paddles on the gunwales in time to the chantey, and paddled much better when they sang.
        Sometimes we could understand and make sense out of the words, but more often not. The chantey-man would sing the first line of the song, and the others would join in the second line. If it was a pretentious song with more than two lines, the chantey-man would sing the third line, and the chorus would wind up the verse. This would be repeated over and over again, until the chantey-man was tired, or thought of a new song he would rather sing. Then he would call, "Compliment! Compliment!" and we would clap, and tell him we were enchanted with his performance.
        As it was Sunday, they interspersed the programme with "Sunday chanteys." One of these ran something like this:

        "David mourning for his son, Absalom;
                (Chorus) Son Absalom, son Absalom.
        David mourning for his son, Absalom;
                (Chorus) Absalom, Absalom, Absalom."

        I remember the chorus only of the other Sunday chantey, which ran:
        
        "Fire burning down below, hey ho!
        Fire burning down below!"

        Our favorite chantey, the words of which almost made sense, was: "Blow de man down." The man was to be blown down with a bottle of rum or a bottle of gin, or anything that wasn't prohibition, and he was to be blown down to Amatuk, Waratuk, or Kaieteur Falls, or anywhere the chantey-man wanted him blown. With this range of variations to choose from, this song could be kept up much longer than the others." (pp. 566-570)

http://books.google.com/books?id=814AAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA568&dq=chantey&lr=&cd=35#v=onepage&q=chantey&f=false