I just wanted to get these texts into this thread, for search/comparison purposes. The thread dealing with this article is, of course, here.

1909 Buryeson, Fred H. ['El Tuerto']. "Sea Shanties." _Coast Seamen's Journal_ 22(40) (23 June).

//
WINDLASS SHANTIES.

SHENANDOAH

Shenandoah, I love your waters;
And away, you rolling river
I love your clear and rushing waters
Ah, ah, ah, we're bound away, across the wide Missouri.

The ship sails free, a gale is blowing;
Her braces taut and sheet a-flowing.

Shenandoah, I love to hear you;
Shenandoah, I long to see you.

Black-eyed Sue is sure a beauty;
To sing her praise it is our duty.

Shenandoah, I'll ne'er forget you,
But think of you and love you ever.

Give me a good old Yankee clipper,
A bully crew and swearing skipper.

Shenandoah, my heart is longing
To see again your rolling waters.

Good shipmates always pull together,
No matter what the wind or weather.

Shenandoah, I'd love to see you,
And hear again your tumbling waters.

Shenandoah, my thoughts will ever
Be where you are, sweet rolling river.
//

Buryeson's note after the lyrics suggests the possible relationship between, or crossing with, ACROSS THE WESTERN OCEAN.
//
Note. -- This shanty is said to have originated with negro roustabouts on the Mississippi River boats, many of whom were from the Shenandoah
Valley. The saltwater interpolations in the text were no doubt inserted later by some white shantyman for the purpose of appropriateness. Indeed, many shantymen shipmates of mine, to give this shanty a still more pronounced saltwater tang, used the substitute "Western Ocean" for
"wide Missouri" in the second chorus.
//

//
SALLY BROWN

Sally Brown was a nice young lady,
'Way, heigh, roll and go.
Just as bright and pretty as they make 'em.
I spent my money on Sally Brown.

Sally wasn't either tall or slender,
But her eyes were both blue and tender.

Sally's father kept a little tavern
Just at the head of India basin.

Seven long years, I courted Sally,
But Sally didn't want no coasting sailor.

And so I shipped on a China packet
Just for to be a flyin' fish sailor.

Seven more years I did sail the seas, boys,
When, one day, I received a letter

Telling that Sally had married a tinker
With nary a shilling--and seven small children.

So it's me for the life of a sailor
And I'll spend no more money on Sally.
//

//
RIO GRANDE.

In Rio Grande I'll take my stand,
'Way, you Rio.
For Rio Grande's the place for me.
We are bound for the Rio Grande.
Oh, Rio, Rio; 'Way, you Rio.
Sing fare you well, my bonny young girl,
We are bound for the Rio Grande.

One day I espied a damsel fair
With cherry-red lips and nut-brown hair.

"Where are you going my pretty, fair maid."
"I'm going a-milking, kind sir," she said.

"May I go with you my pretty, fair maid?"
"Oh, no, sir; that never would do," she said.

"Why may I not come, my pretty, fair maid?"
"My father would be angry, sir," she said.

"We are bound for the Rio Grande," I said;
"And, please, won't you come along, fair maid?"

"Oh, no, sir, that never can be," she said,
"For roving is not for a poor young maid."

And away she walked, this pretty, fair maid.
"I must go a-milking, kind sir," she said.

So in Rio Grande I'll take my stand,
For Rio Grande's the place for me.
//

//
DIXIE'S ISLE.

Oh then Susie, lovely Susie, I can no longer stay,
For the bugle sounds the warning that calls me far away.
It ca11s me down to New Orleans, the enemy for to rile;
And to fight the Southern soldiers, 'way down upon Dixie's Isle.

The owners they gave orders no women they were to come.
The captain, likewise, ordered that none of them were to come;
For their waists they are too slender, and their figures are not the style
For to go fight the Southern soldiers, 'way down upon Dixie's Isle.

Oh, my curse attend those cruel wars when first they began;
They robbed New York and Boston of many a noble young man.
They robbed us of our wives, our sweethearts and brothers while
We went fighting the Southern soldiers, 'way down upon Dixie's Isle.

Note.-- The last line of each verse constitutes the chorus.
//

//
BLOW FOR CALIFORNIA.

We're bound for California I heard the old man say;
To me hoodah, to me hoodah.
We're bound for California this very good day.
To me hoodah, hoodah day.
Blow, boys, blow for California;
there is plenty of gold, so I've been told,
on the banks of the Sacramento.

As I was a-walking one day up and down
I spied a gay damsel she seemed outward bound.

I fired my bow-chaser, the signal she knew;
She backed her main topsail, for me she hove to.

I hailed her in English, she answered me thus:
My name is Sally Gubbins, and I'm bound on a cruise.

Then I gave her my hawser and took her in tow,
And into an alehouse together we did go;


And drank ale and brandy till near break of day,
When I went a-rolling down home Tigerbay.

She had rifled my lockers while I filled my hold,
And aboard of my packet I had for to scull.

With a hookpot and pannikin I got under weigh
Seven bells in the morning, the very next day.

And when I have finished a-singing my song
I hope you'll excuse me if I have sung wrong.

She was a fine frigate you must understand,
But one of those cruisers who sail on dry land;

A reg'lar old fire-ship, rigged out in disguise,
To burn jolly sailors like me, damn her eyes.

We're bound for California this very good day;
We're bound for California I hear them all say.

Note.-The "hoodah day," etc., I have spelt according to the way those words sounded to me when the chorus was sung, but I have no idea of their meaning or source, if, indeed, they ever had any meaning.
//

//
SANTA ANA.

Santa Ana has gained the day.
Hooray, Santa Ana.
From Vera Cruz to Manzanas Bay.
All along the plains of Mexico.

He marched his soldiers all o'er the land;
At Orizaba he took his stand.

He drove the gringoes into the sea,
And hung their leader to a gallows tree.

I wish I were in old Mobile Bay,
A-screwing cotton this blessed day.

Though Santa Ana has gained the day
A dollar a day is a nigger's pay.

But seven dollars is a white man's pay
For screwing cotton ten hours a day.

Then heave her up, boys, and let her go;
For now we're heading for Mexico.

I heard the skipper say yesterday
We're going to Matamoros Bay.

So heave a pawl, boys, the wind is fair,
Likewise the donnas who live down there.

For Santa Ana has gained the day
From Vera Cruz to Manzanas Bay.
//

//
MISTER "STORMALONG."

"Storma!ong" was a good old man,
Aye, aye, aye, Mister "Stormalong."
For he served his sailors grog by the can.
To me 'way, "Stormalong."

He gave us plenty of spud-hash, too,
And every Sunday we had black-ball stew;

With soup and boulli and lots of duff,
Of soft-tack, also, we got enough.

"Stormy" never put us on our whack;
No pound and pint "according to the Act."

Then shake her up and away we'll go;
We're bound to sail, blow high or low.

I wish I was with "Stormalong"
A-drinking of his rum so strong.

For "Stormalong" was a good old rip,
As good as ever sailed a ship.
//

//
MAID OF AMSTERDAM.

In Amsterdam there lived a fair maid.
Mark well what I do say;
In Amsterdam there lived a fair maid,
And this fair maid my trust betrayed.
I'll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid;
A-roving, a-roving, since roving's been my ruin,
I'll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid.

I asked this fair maid to take a walk,
That we might have some private talk.

Then I took this fair maid's lily-white hand,
In mine as we walked along the strand.

Then I put my arm around her waist,
And from her lips snatched a kiss in haste.

Then a great, big Dutchman rammed my bow,
And said, "Young man, dis bin mein vrow."

Then take a warning, boys, from me,
With other men's wives don't make too free.

For if you do you will surely rue,
Your act, and find my words come true.
//

//
HOMEWARD BOUND.

We are homeward bound, come, let us all sing.
Good-by, fare you well; good-by, fare you well.
We are homeward bound, strike up with a ring.
Hurrah, my boys, we are homeward bound.

Then I thought I heard our old man say
That our store of grog gave out yesterday.

So heave her up, we are bound to go
Around Cape Horn through frost and snow.

Hurrah, my boys, we are homeward bound;
We are homeward bound to Liverpool town.

And when we get there we'll have money to spend,
With lots of good cheer, boys, and lashings of rum.

The landlord will greet us with a bow and a smile,
A-saying, "Get up Jack and let John sit down."

But when your money it is all gone
Then in comes the landlord with a frown.

A-saying, "Young man, it is time you were gone,
1 have a ship for you bound out to Hongkong."

So shake her up, bullies; let us be gone,
And sing the good news, we are homeward bound.
//

//
HEAVE AWAY, LADS.

Then heave away, my bully boys; the wind is blowing fair.
Heave away, my bullies; heave away, lads.
Our ship will soon be rolling home to merry England's shores.
Heave away, my bully boys; we are all bound to go.

Then hreak her out and square away; we are all bound to go.
Our course lies through those latitudes where stormy winds do blow.

When I was young and in my prime I sailed in the Black Ball line.
They were the finest ships e'er seen upon the ocean brine.

One morning Bridget Donahue came down the dock to see
Old Tapscot 'bout a steerage berth, and presently said she:

"Good morning, Mr. Tapscot, sir." "Good morning, ma'am," says he.
"And have you got a packet ship to carry me over the sea?"

"Oh, yes. I've got a packet ship to carry you over the sea,"
"And, please yet Mr. Tapscot, sir, what may the fare then be?"

"It 'may be' fifty pounds," says he, "and it 'may be' sixty, too;
But eight pound ten we'll call enongh, my pretty dear, for you."

"And here's the money, sir," says she. "Step right onboard," says he;
"The tide is up, the wind is fair, and soon we'll tow to sea."

"At last," says Bridget, "I am off to the far away
Where Barney went two years ago, the land of Americay."

So shake her up, my bully boys, this day we're bound to go;
The anchor is a-weigh, and now for home we'll sing heigh-ho.
//

//
THE DREADNOUGHT.

I sing of a packet, and a packet of fame;
She's commanded by Samuels, the Dreadnought's her name.
She sails to the west'ard where the stormy winds blow;
Bound away in the Dreadnought to the west'ard we'll go.

It's now we are lying in the River Mersey,
Waiting for the Constitution to tow us to sea.
We'll tow 'round the black rock where the Mersey does flow;
Bound away in the Dreadnought to the west'ard we'll go.

It's now we are sailing on the ocean so wide,
Where the deep and blue waters dash by her black side;
With our sails set so neatly, and the red cross will show;
Bound away in the Dreadnought to the west'ard we'll go.

It's now we are sailing 'cross the Banks of Newfoundland,
Where the lead shows sixty fathoms and bottom of sand;
With icebergs all around and northwesters do blow,
Bound away in the Dreadnought to the west'ard we'll go.

It's now we are sailing by the Long Island shore,
Where the pilot he does board us as he [sic] often done before.
And it's "back your main topsail, your fore tack let it go";
She's a Liverpool packet, brave boys, let her go.

And now to conclude and to finish my song,
I hope you'll excuse me if I have sung wrong.
For the song was composed while the watch was below;
Bound away in the Dreadnought to the west'ard we'll go.
//

//
TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY.

I sing of a brave and a gallant ship, a brisk and a lively breeze
A bully crew, and a captain, too, to carry me over the seas.
To carry me over" the seas, my boys, to my truelove so gay.
She has taken a trip in a government ship, ten thousand miles away.
Then blow you winds, heigh-ho, for it's roving I will go.
I'll stay no more on England's shore, so let your music play.
I'm off by the morning train to cross the raging main,
For I'm on the move to my own truelove, ten thousand miles away.

My truelove she is beautiful, and my truelove she is young,
Her eyes as bright as the stars at night, and silvery sounds her tongue.
And silvery sounds her tongue, my boys, but while I sing this lay
She is doing it grand in a distant land, ten thousand miles away.

It was a dark and a dismal morn when last she left the strand.
She bid good-by with a tear-dimmed eye, and waved her lily-white hand.
And waved her lily-white hand, my boys, as the big ship left the bay.
"Adieu," said she, "and remember me ten thousand miles away."

Then I wish I were a boatswain bold, or even a bombardier,
I'd hire a boat and hurry afloat, and straight to my truelove steer.
And straight to my truelove steer, my boys, where the dancing dolphins play,
And the whales and sharks are having their larks ten thousand miles away.

May the sun shine through a London fog; may the Thames run bright and clear;
May the ocean brine be turned to wine; may I forget my beer.
May I forget my beer, my boys, and the landlord his quarter-day,
If ever I part with my sweetheart, although so far away.

Note.--The last two shanties, as well as "Dixie's Isle," were sung more especially when pumping ship, and would therefore, perhaps, be more properly classed as pump shanties.
//

//
TOPSAIL HALYARDS SHANTIES.

TOM IS GONE TO ILO.

Tom is gone and I'll go to.
Away, Ilo.
Tom is gone and so may you.
Tom is gone to Ilo.

For times are hard and wages low;
It's time for you and me to go.

When I was young I served my time
On board the coasting brig "Sublime."

I had but sailed a voyage or two
When I fell in love with a sweet young maid.

Straight to my captain I did go
And told him of my sad grief and woe.

"I love one girl as I love my life,
And what wouldn't I give if she were my wife."

"Go along, go along, you foolish boy,
To love this girl you'll never enjoy.

"Your love's got sweethearts, it may be,
And she'll be married before you are free."

"Never mind, never mind, but I'll go and try;
Perhaps my love will fancy none but I.

"Perhaps her favor I may enjoy
Although I am but a 'prentice boy."

And when me and my shipmates went on the spree
I asked my love would she drink with me.

And she drank with me and was nowise shy.
Although I was but a 'prentice boy.

Note.--At this juncture the shantyman having, perhaps, run out on the shanty proper, and noting that the leaches of the topsail were yet slack,
would proceed somewhat as follows:

Then up aloft that yard must go,
And down on deck we'll coil this fall.

We're bound to go through frost and snow;
We're bound to go, blow high or low.

For growl we may but go we must;
It's on to Liverpool or bust.

Then I thought I heard our chiefmate say,
I thought I heard him say "Belay!"

This was a delicate hint to the mate that, in the opinion of the singer, the sail had been stretched sufficiently; and his "Belay!" was usually so well timed that the mate would then and there roar out, "Belay! Haul taut the lee brace."

The foregoing, and a number of others of a similar tenor, were the "stock verses" to which I referred in my introductory remarks. As many
of the shanties were composed in the same measure, these verses could be tucked in snug among the verses proper whenever "padding" might become necessary.
//

//
'RANZO, BOYS, 'RANZO.

'Way down in Anjou county.
'Ranzo, boys, 'Ranzo.
There lived one Reuben 'Ranzo.
'Ranzo boys, 'Ranzo

Oh 'Ranzo took a notion
That he'd cross the Western Ocean.

So he shipped onboard of a whaler
Along with Captain Taylor.

But 'Ranzo was no sailor,
And neither was he a whaler.

So they put him in the galley,
But he spoiled our morning coffee.

Then they took him to the gangway
And lashed him to a grating.

And gave him five and forty
Of stripes across his backside.

The captain was a good man;
He took him in his cabin

And gave him wine and brandy,
And taught him navigation.

Now 'Ranzo is a captain,
And navigates a whaler.

But he hasn't yet forgotten
When they lashed him to that grating.

So he treats his sailors kindly,
And gives them grog a-plenty.

Note.-'Ranzo is said to be a contraction of Lorenzo, formerly a common name among the whalemen of New Bedford. Mass., a majority of whom were either Portuguese or of Portuguese extraction.
//

//
WHISKEY, JOHNNY.

Oh, whiskey is the life of man,
Whiskey, Johnny.
For who can do what whiskey can?
Whiskey for me, Johnny.

Hard is our life and short our day,
So I'll drink whiskey while I may.

For whiskey is the friend of man,
So drink it down, boys, all you can.

It's whiskey hot and whiskey cold;
That's how we spend our hard-earned gold.

Oh, whiskey killed my father dead,
And whiskey broke my mother's heart.

It drove my sister on the street,
And sent my brother to the jail.

And whiskey made me leave my home
In foreign countries for to roam.

For whiskey is what brought me here;
It surely is the devil's cheer.

So drink it down, boys, good and strong,
And let us have another song.

Oh, whiskey is the life of man,
For who can do what whiskey can?
//

//
BLOW, BOYS, BLOW.

And it's blow, my boys, for I love to hear you.
Blow, boys, blow.
I love to hear you roll it, bullies.
Blow, my bully boys, blow.

Then blow, my boys, for finer weather
And for a fair wind. and blow together.

A Yankee ship came down the river
And proudly flew her Irish pennants.

And who d'ye think was the captain of her?
Why, "Bucko" Brown, that damned old driver.

And what d'ye think they had for breakfast?
A chunk of salthorse and deviled lobcouse.

And what d'ye think they had for dinner?
A monkey's lights and a bullock's liver.

And who d'ye think was "the chief mate of her?
'Twas "Lily" White, the big Georgia nigger.

And as we passed her by to leeward
Our skipper hailed that nigger chief mate:

"And how's things 'way down in Georgia?"
"Why, red hot, sah, an' still a-heating."

Then blow to-day and blow to-morrow
And blow away all care and sorrow. '

No matter what the wind or weather,
We are the boys can blow together.
//

//
BLOW THE MEN DOWN.

Oh, blow the men down, bullies, blow the men down.
To me 'way, heigh, blow the men down.
An~ blow the men down from Liverpool town.
Give me sometime to blow the men down.

Oh, blow the men down on board of this craft
For blow the men down is the word from aft.

As I was a-walking down South Castle street
A cheeky policeman I chanced for to meet.

He opened his gob, and he gave me some jaw,
And I laid him out stiff with me Erin go bragh.

I up with my helm and ran for Lime street,
And there an old skirt-rigged craft I did meet.

"Oh, Jack," says she, "will you stand a treat?"
"Oh yes, my dear, when next we meet."

She up with her fist and she knocked me down.
"I'll show you," says she, "how to blow the men down."

So blow the men down, bullies, blow the men down,
For that is the style of Liverpool town.
//

//
JOHN FRANCOIS.

Oh, Bonny was a warrior,
To me 'way, heigh-ho.
But we licked him at Trafalgar.
John Francois.

He tried to conquer all Europe,
But he couldn't, conquer old England.

Oh, Donny went to Russia,
To Austria, Spain and Prussia.

And Bonny went to Moscow,
But Moscow was a-burning.

There he lost a bunch of roses,
A bonny bunch of roses.

Twas a token of disaster;
Bold Wellington was his master.

At Waterloo we caught him
And sent him to Saint Helena.

Oh, Bonny was a warrior,
But he couldn't conquer old England.

For he lost his bunch of roses,
His bonny bunch of roses.
//

//
FORESHEET SHANTIES.

JOHNNY BOWKER.

Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, come, rock and roll me over;
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, do.

Come, rock and roll me over from Calais town to Dover.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, the ship she is a-rolling.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, the old man is a-growling.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, the wind it is a-howling.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, I'd like to marry your daughter,
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, and take her across the water.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, come, give us finer weather.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, come, let us pull together.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, the gale is still a-blowing.
Come, do. my Johnny Bowker, this sheet is still a-flowing.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, our arms are sore and aching.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, our hearts are nigh to breaking.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, the sheet is now a-straining.
Come, do, my Johnny Bowker, and nothing are we gaining.
(Belay!)
//

//
HAUL ON THE BOWLINE.

Haul on the bowline, the bonny, bonny bowline.
Haul on the bowline, the bowline, haul.

Haul on the bowline, for something is a-holding.
Haul on the bowline, we'll either bend or break her.
Haul on the bowline, and if she won't we'll make her.
Haul on the bowline, we are the boys so handy.
Haul on the bowline, but that one was a dandy.
Haul on the bowline, and fiddlest ring her braces.
Haul on the bowline, we'll give her merry blazes.
Haul on the bowline, the mate says, "Haul 'em tauter."
Haul on the bowline, and send her 'cross the water.
Haul on the bowline, she's making heavy weather.
Haul on the bowline, and buckle off together.
Haul on the bowline, and drive the ship along, boys.
Haul on the bowline, let's drive her good and strong, boys.
Haul on the bowline, a gale of wind is coming.
Haul on the bowline, and then she'll go a-humming.
Haul on the bowline, we'lI either bend or break her.
Haul on the bowline, and may the devil take her.
(Belay!)
//

Interesting here the "bunch of posies" lyric.
//
HAUL AWAY, JOE.

Away, haul away, boys, and haul away, my rosies.
Away, haul away, and haul away, Joe.

Away, haul away, boys, and haul, my bunch of posies.
Oh, once I loved an Irish girl, she damned near drove me crazy.
And then I loved a Deutscher girl, she was so fat and lazy.
And then I loved a Spanish girl, she was so proud and haughty.
And then I loved a French girl, oh my, but she was naughty.
And then I loved a Yankee girl, she was so tall and slender.
And then I loved an English girl, her eyes were blue and tender.
And then I loved a Scotch lass, she was so fair and bonny.
But she wouldn't look at me for either love or money.
Then away, hau1 away, boys, I'm through with all love-making;
And away, haul away, boys the game is too heart-breaking. '
(Belay!)

Note.--If more verses happened to be needed they were usually borrowed from Johnny Bowker or Haul on the Bowline.
//

Also mentions timber stowing songs "Miss Rosa Lee" "Somebody Told Me So" "Yankee John, Storm Along."
//
In addition to our sea shanties proper we also had timber shanties, sung when loading heavy timbers into a ship's hold. As, however they originated with, and were mostly sung by 'longshore timber stowers, I have not deemed it advisable to include them in the present collection.
The most popular of the timber shanties were Miss Rosa Lee, Somebody Told Me So, and Yankee John, Storm Along. They are still sung by the negro timber stowers in the seaports of the South.

Then, too, we used to sing a shanty -- if shanty it can be called -- when rolling the bunt of a heavy sail up on the yard. After all the slack of the sail had been gathered into the bunt, and we had gotten a firm hold of the "skin," the shantyman would sing:

"'Way, heigh, heigh-ho."

To which all hands chorused:

"And we'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots."

This would be repeated at every toss until the bunt had finally been rolled up on the yard. Paddy Doyle, by the way, was a Liverpool shoemaker, known to a11 the "packet-rats" sailing out of that port for the excellency of his sea-boots, and beloved for his readiness to trust any of the boys for the price of a pair when they were outward bound across "the big pond."
//


His comment on the relative value of the solo lyrics is very quotable:
//
…with us sailors the tune and the chorus counted, in point of importance, as nine-tenths or the shanty, the remaining tenth being just a convenient peg on which to hang the other nine. To be sure, the more ornamental and handsome the peg, the better we
liked it. But on a pinch any old song would do, rhyme or no rhyme, relevancy or no relevancy, provided, of course, it would fit the tune. …
//