1903        Whitmarsh, H. Phelps. "The Chantey-man." _Harper's Monthly Magazine_ 106(632) (Jan. 1903): 319-

This featured article in Harper's seems to mark maybe a new way of discussing chanties. It uses the phrase "sea chanteys" which, though it does appear a few times earlier, was never used consistently or with quite such a firm sense of purpose. The article is full of nonsensical platitudes like "smacking of old ocean, true nautical swing," starting off, for instance, with the claim that chanties "hark back to such a remote period that it is impossible to say when or whence they originated…" It is possible that he doesn't mean that chanties "as we know them" "hark back" to such a remote period; he may have adopted the idea of a chantey as *any* maritime work-song that one might dig up – in which case this is also a notable shift in conception/usage.

The author is informed about such things as "walking away" with a halyard (i.e. in war ships) and "singing out."
"The soloists are known as chantey-men, and they are usually older men…"

Here's yet another statement of the idea of "Southern cotton ports" – one which I think is reasonable, but smacks, perhaps, or recent writings (e.g. the SEA BREEZE article). Wondering if this impression of the cotton stowing influence was, in the 1890s-1900s, a presently experienced idea, or more like a part of the written narrative passed down. Either way, it is notable that, outside of chanty scholars, the idea has sort of left the common consciousness. Now, as for the "undoubtedly English" origins of "ancient airs," I don't know where that comes from. I don't see earlier writers opining like that.

//
Most of the melodies are undoubtedly of English origin, though in many cases they have been influenced by contact with other nations. Thus we find a number of ancient airs set to words distinctly American, such as those of "Shenandoah," "Sally Brown," and "On the Banks of the Sacramento." The first two doubtless came from some Southern cotton ports, as they bear ear-marks of negro singers.
//

He characterizes the poetic style/method accurately IMO, saying that to to landsmen they "will probably appear as the veriest doggerel" and yet "As a rule, the chantey in its entirety possesses neither rhyme nor reason; nevertheless, it is admirably fitted for sailors' work. Each of these sea-songs has a few stock verses or phrases to begin with, but after these are sung, the soloist must improvise, and it is principally his skill in this direction that marks the successful chantey-man."

//
…in listening to the plaintive melodies like "Storm-along" and "The Lowlands," I have at times been reminded of a Gaelic psalm chant, such as is sung by the Scotch Highlander ers and their descendants in Cape Breton; and again, they have seemed akin to the weird recitative and chorus of the aboriginal Australian.
//

Mention of adapted songs—"rarely" used: JOHNNY COMES MARCHING HOME, TRAMP TRAMP, JOHN BROWN'S BODY:

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Sometimes the sailor has taken a 'longshore tune and modified it for his own purposes. "When Johnny comes marching home again," "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp," and "John Brown" are on rare occasions used as capstan chanteys;
//

Hauling songs:
//
BLOW THE MAN DOWN [w/ score]
As I was a-walking down Paradise Street.
Way! Hey! Blow the man down.
A pretty young damsel I chanced for to meet.
Give me some time to blow the man down.
Says she, young man, will you stand treat?
'Way! Hey! Blow the man down.
Delighted, says I, for a charmer so sweet.
Give me some time to blow the man down.

And so on until a loud " Belay!" from the mate announces that the yard is high enough. In a long haul like this a poor chantey-man will repeat each line twice, while a good improvisatore will scorn such a spinning out, and turn the song upon current events, the officers, and the food. A chantey-man invariably alters certain words to suit himself. For instance, the chantey given refers to a notorious street in Liverpool. A Londoner would sing it:

As I was a-walking down Ratcliffe Highway. A pretty young damsel I chanced for to spy.
And a New - Yorker would make this much-walked street Broadway.
//

That's the first literary reference to the "Paradise Street" version I have seen, though I suspect the line had been attached to the song for a while – though, as we've seen, the "Black Ball Liner" theme may be older. The above also includes an asthetic evaluation of spinning (stringing) out.

SALLY BROWN, no lyrics:
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A similar chantey is "Sally Brown." Who Sally Brown was, beyond the statement that she was "a bright mulatto" and "a gay old lady," and that "she's got a baby," I have never been able to discover,…
//

REUBEN RANZO:
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Another mythical personage much sung about is "Reuben Ranzo":

His name was Reuben Ranzo. 

Oh! Ranzo, boys. Ranzo.
And Ranzo was no sailor. 

Oh! Ranzo, boys, Ranzo. 

He shipped aboard a whaler. 

Oh! Ranzo, boys, Ranzo. 

The captain was a bad man. 

Oh! Ranzo, boys. Ranzo. 

He triced him in the rigging, 

Oh! Ranzo. boys, Ranzo, 

And gave him four-and-twenty. 

Oh! Ranzo. boys, Ranzo.

The song goes on to tell of the various vicissitudes that befell poor Ranzo,…
//

//
BLOW, BOYS, BLOW [w/ score]
Blow, my bullies, I long to hear you.
Blow, boys, blow.
Blow, my, bullies, I come to cheer you.
Blow, my bully boys, blow.
A Yankee ship's gone down the river. 

Blow, boys, blow.
And what do you think they got for dinner?
Blow, my bully boys, blow. 

Dandyfunk and donkey's liver. 

Blow, boys, blow.
Then blow, my boys, for better weather, 

Blow, my bully boys, blow.
//

BONEY:
//
Then there is a popular chantey relating to the downfall of Napoleon Bonaparte. It begins somewhat in this wise:
Boney was a warrior.
To me, tray, hey, yah!
A warrior and a tarrier,
John Fran-swaw. (Jean Francois.)
But the big-nosed duke, he put him through.
To me, way, hey, yah!
He put him through at Waterloo.
John Fran-swaw.
//

One pull is indicated each chorus, on "yah" and "John."

TOMMY'S GONE:
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Another favorite conveys the information that "Tom's gone to Hilo." One version opens after the following fashion, which is sung with gusto:

Tommy's gone and I'll go too, 

A-way, ey, oh! 

Tommy's gone to Timbuctoo. 

Tom's gone to Hilo.
After running on for a while about the beauties of Hilo, and the delightful life
that Tommy led, and so forth, the song branches off (as indeed most halyard chanteys do) into such words as these:
Up aloft this yard must go.
A-way, ey, oh!
Up aloft from down below,
Tom's gone to Hilo.
Oh! did you hear the first mate say,
A-way, ey, oh!
Give one more pull, and then belay.
Tom's gone to Hilo.
//

And the "such as" section, lists other long drag chanties, WHISKEY JOHNNY, DEAD HORSE, CHEERLY, BLACKBALL LINE, HUNDRED YEARS:
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Other much-used chanteys for work of this nature are "Whiskey Johnny," "Poor Old Man," " Cheerly Men," " The Black Ball Line," and " A Hundred Years Ago."
//

Short drag stuff, w/ BOWLINE and HAUL AWAY JOE:
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For work requiring only a few pulls, as the tautening of a weather-brace, a different kind of chantey is called for. In this case a turn is kept on the belaying-pin so that the slack can be held after each pull. The hands having laid hold of the rope, the chantey-man usually stands with arms outstretched above the block, and sings:

HAUL ON THE BOWLINE. [w/ score]
Haul on the bowline (bolin),
Our bully ship's a-rollin',
CHO: Haul on the bowline, the bowline—Haul
Haul on the bowline,
Our Captain he's a growlin',
CHO: Haul on the bowline, the bowline—Haul
Haul on the bowline,
Haul on the bowline,
Oh, Kitty, you're my darlin'.
CHO: Haul on the bowline, the bowline—Haul
Haul on the bowline,
…
//

HAUL AWAY JOE has various accents being done (cf. the Irish accent version of this recently mentioned up-thread).
//
Once I loafed a Deutscher maid, Und she vas fat and lazy,
Way, haul away, haul away—Joe.
And thin I coorted an Irish gyurl, She—nigh dhruv me crazy.
Way, haul away, haul away—Joe.
//

Heaving chanties…
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The capstan or windlass chanteys admit of a little more leeway in their composition, inasmuch as there is no regular hauling time, the sailors merely tramping around the capstan, or heaving up and down on the handle-bars of the windlass. When heaving anchor on an outwardbound vessel, a common one is "Rio Grande," which runs as follows:

WERE YOU EVER IN RIO GRANDE? [w/ score]
Were you ever in Rio Grande?
Away, you Rio.
Were you ever on that strand?
We're bound for the Rio Grande.
And away, you Rio,
Way, you Rio;
Then fare you well,
My bonny young girl,
We're bound for the Rio Grande.

Where the Portugee girls can be found
Away, you Rio.
And they are the girls to waltz around,
We're bound for the Rio Grande.
And away, you Rio,
Way, you Rio;
Then fare you well,
My bonny young girl,
We're bound for the Rio Grande.
//

GOODBYE FARE YOU WELL:
//
WE'RE HOMEWARD BOUND [w/ score]
We're homeward bound, ah! That's the sound!
Good-by, fare you well, Good-by, fare you well,
We're homeward bound, to Liverpool town.
Hurrah! My lads, we're homeward bound.

The second stanza runs thus:
We're loaded down with sugar and rum.
Good-by, fare you well, 
Good-by. fare you well.
The sails are set. and the breeze has come,
Hurrah! my lads, we're homeward bound.
//

MR. STORMALONG:
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After a blow a suitable chantey is:

Old Storm-along, he is dead and gone. 

Ay—ay—ay—Mister Storm-along. 

Oh! Storm-along, he is dead and gone, 

To my way, yah. Storm-along.
And there are many more, some gay and some cheery, like "Santa Anna"; others, like "The Lowlands," mournful as the sighing of the wind in the shrouds.
//

Pumping…
This like the "mid-journey" version of LEAVE HER JOHNNY that Hugull offers.
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There are no chanteys more suggestive of the old-times wooden ships than those used at the pumps. Of these there are quite a number, some suited to the everyday work of clearing the bilges, and some adapted for more serious times. Where heavy weather has caused the vessel to leak more than usual, and the crew are weary from pumping, nothing could be more appropriate, doleful though it be, than "Leave her, Johnny, leave her":

Heave around the pump-bowls bright, 

Leave her, Johnny, leave her. 

There'll be no sleep for us to-night, 

It's time for us to leave her.
Heave around or we shall drown, 

Leave her, Johnny, leave her. 

Don't you feel her settling down? 

It's time for us to leave her.
The rats have gone, and we the crew,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her.
It's time, by , that we went too,
It's time for us to leave her.
//

The usual PADDY DOYLE stuff:
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The quaintest little hauling-song of all, "Bunt Chantey," is only sung aloft when stowing a large sail, and it is confined to one short verse;—if I may call it a verse. When a mainsail is being furled, and "all hands and the cook" are laid out on the yard and have the "skin" of the sail in their hands, a few simultaneous lifts are required to bring the heavy roll of canvas on to the yard. Then above the booming of the wind in belly of the topsails, above its howling as it hurries past the multitudinous ropes, comes the "bunt" cry:

WE'LL PAY PADDY DOYLE. [w/ score]
Ay-Ay-Ay ah! We'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots.

Way—ay—ay—ah,
followed by the strange chorus:
We'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots.

At the last word every one gives a vicious hoist, and it is continued until the sail is in place and the gaskets are passed. This chantey doubtless originated in the superstition that bad luck would follow when shore bills were left unpaid, and the song is addressed to the Storm Fiend in hopes of appeasing his wrath.
//

Nostalgia…
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In this age the chantey-man is very little in evidence. His place is rapidly being taken by the hiss and clank of the steam-winch, and at the present rate at which progress is making new conditions he will soon be as extinct as the dodo. And with these new conditions we have a new class. But what a difference between the old-time sailor-man and the modern follower of salt-water! Steam with its labor-saving devices, iron sailing-ships, wire-ropes, screw rigging, and the 'longshore rigger have made the ancient art and craft of the sailor, with few exceptions, unnecessary. The principal end of seamen in these times is to use a chipping-hammer, a paint-brush, and the bucket of "soogey-moogey"— a compound for cleaning paint - work. The mariner of old in American vessels hailed from Cape Cod, the coast of Maine, and the Eastern seaboard. In English ships he was a native of the British Isles. Skilled in the mysteries of knots and splices, sail-making, and seamanship in general, steeped in brine and tar and the traditions of his calling, hewn into shape by his constant battle with the elements, he was a sailor to the backbone—a man whose blood ran Stockholm tar, and whose every hair was a ropeyarn. To-dny the vessels of both nations are manned by foreigners. And with the advent of this new element the quaint customs and practices of the old-time sailor's life are fast dying.
The chantey, from a musical point of view, is crude enough, its melody is doubtful, and the voices that sing it are untrained—ay, even hoarse and cracked, —and yet in my memory there clings no song more in harmony with the wild freedom of the sea, no sound more cheery and stirring on stormy nights, than when

Blow, my bullies, I long to hear you, 

Blow, boys, blow.
Blow, my bullies. I come to cheer you, 

Blow, my bully boys, blow,

is being bellowed through a score of lusty throats.
//
Aww…