1900[Oct.]        Lahee, Henry C. "Sailors' Chanteys." _The Sea Breeze_ 13(1) (Oct. 1900): 13-14.

This next article for the new century is from an American perspective, the Boston Seaman's Friend Society. It laments the passing of chanteys, too. Beginning to treat them as folklore.

Begins noting the dearth of prior literature.

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Steam has almost entirely displaced the sailing ship, has changed the life and conditions of the sailor, and has rendered the chantey a thing of the past.
Now that the thing has gone by, we are alive to the fact that an old and romantic custom is dead or dying. Its rope is rapidly running through the block, and unless some one puts an overhand knot in the end, it will soon unreeve itself and be lost forever. During the past twenty years there have been a few magazine articles on the subject, one or two collections of chanteys in book form, and several allusions to the custom in various novels. Previous to that time it is not easy to find much allusion to the subject in literature. Not many knights of the pen went to sea, and of the few who did, scarcely any took notice of a custom which was as much a matter of course among sailors as going to the galley with a hookpot at seven bells. I do not mean to say that there is nothing on the subject, for I have found several allusions, but they are few in comparison to the number of books about the sea, and this leads us to imagine that many sea novels have been written by people whose knowledge of the mighty deep and its strenuous life is as fictitious as the stuff they write about it. And some of them have written books which, although they may be admired from a purely literary point of view and please the business man and his family, would be considered in the forecastle as more funny than the comic papers.
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Singing is one of the most powerful stimulants known to mankind, and it would be strange indeed if sailors had been different from all other people in this respect. These chanteys were not always sung as an expression of joy. Quite the contrary. The sailors had before them weary tasks which sometimes required twice as many men as the crew comprised. They sang in order to lighten their work, — to concentrate their efforts; and the songs which they sang were (some of them) wild and weird. Many familiar chanteys have been used in the more modern days as college songs. There is a song, "There's plenty of gold, so I've been told, on the banks of the Sacramento," which can be found in many college song books. I remember the same tune sung by negro minstrels under the name of " Campdown Races." The tune is lively and a good one. The words of the chantey evidently originated after 1849.

Then there is a rousing good song called "Sally Brown," and another, "Blow, boys, blow." These originated in the southern cotton ports, and there are several of the same kind, all good stirring chanteys, but of comparatively modern origin.
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So, mentions SACRAMENTO, SALLY BROWN, and BLOW BOYS BLOW. How did he know the last two originated in cotton ports?

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The Mexican war left a legacy to the chanteyman. There are two or three songs bearing the marks of that war, and of these the best and the most frequently sung was " Santa Anna."

Solo: "Santa Anna's dead and gone."

Chorus: "Away, oh, Santa Anna." 

Solo: "Oh, Santa Anna's dead and gone." 

Chorus: "All on the plains of Mexico."

Santa Anna was pronounced Santiyanna. There are several verses, but in the chantey the tune and the chorus are the important parts. Neither the words nor the music of these choruses are difficult to learn, otherwise there would have been no chantey singing. "Santiyanna" is a solemn dirge, but a fine, lung-expanding song when you are pushing a capstan bar, or heaving away at the pumps on a stormy night, with an occasional great hoaryheaded comber breaking over the bulwarks and swashing about the decks. But since the days of the iron and steel ship there is no pumping. They are as tight as a "soup and bully" tin, and when they spring aleak they generally go down and settle the question without any chantey singing.
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That was SANTIANA. Incidently, Luce in 1902, changed his lyrics to match this set.
Then, BLACKBALL LINE:

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Several of the finest and most characteristic chanteys are associated with the old transatlantic packets, -— the forerunners of the Cunard, White Star, Inman, Guion lines, etc. One of the breeziest of these is called the " Black Ball Line ":

Solo: "In the Black Ball Line I served my time." 

Chorus: "Way-ay-ay-oh, the Black Ball Line." 

Solo: "The Black Ball Line is a bully line."

Chorus: "Hurrah for the Black Ball Line."

Neither Tennyson, Longfellow, nor any of the great poets wrote the words of any of these chanteys. With the exception of a few lines and the words of the chorus, which are peculiar to each, chanteys are nothing but a string of doggerel dependent upon the wit of the chanteyman.
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HEAVE AWAY MY JOHNNIES

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The great poets of those days have all passed away without realizing their opportunity. What better subject could one have than the stately, full-rigged ship, at anchor in the river or harbor, her topsails loosed and hanging in graceful draperies from the yards, the shore with its outline, perhaps of wharves and warehouses, softened by the gray mist of early morning, the smoke curling up from the galley funnel, and on the forecastle head a dozen or more men, more or less picturesque, heaving away on windlass or capstan and singing their chantey, —

"Sometimes we're bound for England, sometimes we're bound for France.
Heave away, my bullies, heave away — away.
Sometimes we're bound for England, sometimes we're bound for France,
Heave away, my bully boys, — we're all bound to go."
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DEAD HORSE:

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And go they did, setting topsails to the tune of
"Poor old man, your horse will die, 

And we say so, — and we hope so. 

Oh, poor old man, your horse will die, 

Oh, poor — old — man.
"For thirty day I've ridden him, 

And we say so, — and we hope so. 

For thirty days I've ridden him, 

Oh, poor — old — man.
"And when he dies I'll tan his hide. 

And we say so — and we hope so. 

Oh, when he dies we'll tan his hide, 

Oh, poor — old — man." (Belay.)

Up go jibs and staysails, topgallants and royals, with now and then a short song, suitable for a short drag, and the beautiful ship glides away almost imperceptibly on her long and perilous voyage, leaving to the spectator a memory, and much to think of.
This song about the dead horse refers to the thirty days' wages which have been advanced at the time of signing articles, and which has generally been squandered, and thus the sailor has a month's work to do before his pay begins to accumulate. This is the " Dead Horse." At the end of the first month the horse used to die, and its funeral was conducted with much ceremony,—an old sea custom, possibly as dead now as the horse itself.
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Possibly? Does he have no knowledge?

MR. STORMALONG at pumps:

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Some of the chanteys, and those I consider the most valuable, contain a poetical idea, — such a one in fact is "Poor Old Man." But of all these, the song which has always appealed most strongly to me is " Storm Along." Many a dismal spell at the pumps has been enlivened by this dirge:

"Old Storm Along is dead and gone. 
   
To my way, oh. Storm Along. 

Old Stormy's dead, he'll storm no more, 
   
Ay, ay, ay, Mr. Storm Along."

Other verses follow:

"When Stormy died, I dug his grave." 

"I dug his grave with a silver spade."

"I lowered him down with a golden chain." etc.

It was a wild old dirge, suitable for stormy weather, and more characteristic of the sea than any other chantey. So far as the tune is concerned, it is perhaps exceeded in quaintness and "atmosphere" by one which went by the name of ''Lowlands," and of which the chorus ended up with "five dollars and a half a day," — which might just as well be any other price you like to mention, as it was the sailor's dream of the pay which he could get in some other place where he was not. These dreams come to all of us, and if we merely sing about them and still go on with our daily work, they are all right, — otherwise they are all wrong.
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That was LOWLANDS AWAY. I am getting a weird feeling from this article – like the author is familiar with this stuff, but is writing through the voice of Alden or Smith. It's all so standard, and a bit generic.

The next phrase is curious. Does it really mean it was hard to find people who knew many chanties? Or was it just that *he* was making up a story?

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For many years I have not found a sailor who could sing "Lowlands." The old-time deepwater men are scarce. It is not very easy to find men who know any reasonable number of chanteys, except perhaps some of the modern and more frivolous ones. The modern sailor sings sentimental songs, not at his work, but for his amusement, —"Put my little shoes away," and appropriate songs of that kind. But they all sing, whether they have voices or not. Singing is the great outlet for human energy. Even the Puritans enjoyed what they called singing. Everywhere people gather together, in church, in choral societies, glee clubs, etc.,— they all like to sing.

The poor, weatherbeaten, half-starved physically and wholly starved mentally, sailors gathered together at the capstan and sang their chanteys, — wild chants with doggerel words, — and the anchor came quickly to the hawse-pipe, the topsail yard capered nimbly to the masthead, the leaky, overloaded, ill-found windjammer was kept afloat to make more money for the owner, because the songs gave heart and purpose to the men. A good old custom has gone.
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The best definition of chanty I've ever read: "wild chants with doggerel words"!!