GREAT LAKES AND ERIE CANAL
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(Contents)
THE ERIE CANAL (Music arr. by Alfred G. Withall)
BIGERLOW (Music arr. by Leo Sotcerby)
RED IRON ORE (Music arr. by Henry Francis Parks)
RAGING CANAWL
THE E-RI-E
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THE ERIE CANAL
The Erie Canal, in its day, bad dignity, almost majesty. Before railroads came, it was a great man-made transportation link connecting the Atlantic Ocean and the Great Lakes, a highway and common carrier for an immense flow of merchandise westbound and of products eastbound. It gave to the mid-west nails, steel, knives, scissors, fabrics, sewing machines in exchange for pork, beef, wheat, corn. It was celebrated as a thing of use and public utility. People were thankful for it as an achievement of human genius. A placid, even stream, its traffic ran quietly, softly, lazily. Navigation was easy. Men and horses took their jobs as monotonous, mild burdens. A day's travel, a walk, went with monotonous time-beats. The feel of this is in the best known Erie Canal song. I have heard George S. Chappell (Dr. Traprock) sing it movingly, meditatively, so that the Erie Canal took on the character of a symbol of life as a highway to be taken ploddingly with steady pulse. Railroads may fill rush orders; not so canals. To say that Chappell's performance of this song is as interesting and important as a star performer's rendition of the "Song of the Volga Boatmen," might be a misleading statement. Perhaps when certain American songs of vulgar birth are as much loved by American singers as are similar Slavic melodies by Russian vocalists, there may develop meditative airs and commonplace lyrics with the significant pauses and deeper tintings not given them now. The opening line here is sometimes, "I've got a gal, she's Big Foot Sal." On close acquaintance, one may find in the melodic and lyric statements here the gravity, tenacity, and day-by-day responsibility that looks from the face of a faithful friendly mule. ... An incomplete verse from Dr. T. L. Chapman of Duluth has the lines:
Drop a tear for Big Foot Sal,
The best dam cook on the Erie Canal.
THE ERIE CANAL
1 I've got a mule, her name is Sal,
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.
She's a good old worker and a good old pal,
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.
We've haul'd some barges in our day,
FilFd with lumber, coal and hay,
And we know ev'ry inch of the way
From Albany to Buffalo.
Refrain: Low bridge, ev'rybody down!
Low bridge, for we're going through a town,
And you'll always know your neighbor,
You'll always know your pal,
If you ever navigated on the Erie Canal.
2 We better get along on our way, old gal
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal,
Cause you bet your life I'd never part with Sal,
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.
Git up there, mule, here comes a lock,
We'll make Rome 'bout six o'clock,
One more trip and back we'll go
Right back home to Buffalo.
Refrain:
BIGERLOW
We learn here the song of the Great Lakes boatmen, from the years when barges, "timber drovers," carried raw products east and brought manufactured goods west. It is lusty and gusty in such lines as, " Give her the sheet an* let her go. We're the boys to see her through!" and it has spray and wind magic in, "You should a'heard her howlin', When the wind was blowin' free!" I have this from Jack Raper, who writes the colyum in the Cleveland, Ohio, Press under the moniker of Josh Wise. He had served as marine editor of the Cleveland Plaindealer about the same time I was marine editor of the Milwaukee Journal. Our reunion was not as two old sea dogs but as two old marine editors. The piece is related to "The Bigler," sung on the Great Lakes and among lumberjacks.
BIGERLOW
'Twas one October mornin'
That I seen a wond'rous sight;
'Twas the timber drover Bigerlow
A-hailin' from Detrite.
Watch her! Catch her!
Jump up in her Jujubaju!
Give her the sheet an' let her go
We're the boys to see her through!
You should a-heard her howlin'
When the wind was blowin' free!
Twas on the trip to Buffalo from Milwaukee!
RED IRON ORE
Three of the Great Lakes (see any atlas) are traversed In this odyssey of red iron ore. It is a log, the diary of a ship and its men on one cruise. The facts are specific. The E. C. Roberts was a boat. So was The Minch. Riding up Lake Michigan, they passed through death's door; the lake storms were ugly. At Escanaba loading red ore, they "looked like red devils." The crew of The Minch thumbed their noses and taunted, "We'll see you in Cleveland next Fourth of July." But the E. C. Roberts got there ahead of the fleet. A crew of "bold boys" they were, even if they say so themselves. The singer is humble, "Now my song is ended, I hope you won't laugh." The tune is old Irish; the repeated line with each verse, "Deny down, down, down deny down," is in old ballads. It is a virile song, a tale of grappling with harsh elements and riding through, a rattling tune and a devil-may-care timebeat. It may, at first, seem just a lilt with a matter-of-fact story. It is more than that; it is a little drama; the singer should know what it is to shovel red iron ore; the singer should know the wide curves of that ship path from Chicago to Cleveland on three Great Lakes (see any atlas).
RED IRON ORE
1 Come all you bold sailors that follow the Lakes
On an iron ore vessel your living to make.
I shipped in Chicago, bid adieu to the shore,
Bound away to Escanaba for red iron ore.
Deny down, down, down deny down,
2 In the month of September, the seventeenth day,
Two dollars and a quarter is all they would pay,
And on Monday morning the Bridgeport did take
The E. C. Roberta out in the Lake.
Deny down, down, down deny down.
3 The wind from the southward sprang up a fresh breeze,
And away through Lake Michigan the Roberta did sneeze.
Down through Lake Michigan the Roberta did roar,
And on Friday morning we passed through death's door.
4 This packet she howled across the mouth of Green Bay,
And before her cutwater she dashed the white spray.
We rounded the sand point, our anchor let go,
We furled in our canvas and the watch went below.
5 Next morning we hove alongside the Exile,
And soon was made fast to an iron ore pile,
They lowered their chutes and like thunder did roar,
They spouted into us that red iron ore.
6 Some sailors took shovels while others got spades,
And some took wheelbarrows, each man to his trade.
We looked like red devils, our fingers got sore,
We cursed Escanaba and that damned iron ore.
7 The tug Escanaba she towed out the Minch,
The Roberts she thought she had left in a pinch,
And as she passed by us she bid us good-bye,
Saying, "We'll meet you in Cleveland next Fourth of July!"
8 Through Louse Island it blew a fresh breeze;
We made the Foxes, the Beavers, the Skillageles;
We flew by the Minch for to show her the way,
And she ne'er hove in sight till we were off Thunder Bay.
9 Across Saginaw Bay the Roberts did ride
With the dark and deep water rolling over her side.
And now for Port Huron the Roberta must go,
Where the tug Kate Williams she took us in tow.
10 We went through North Passage O Lord, how it blew!
And all 'round the Dummy a large fleet there came too.
The night being dark, Old Nick it would scare.
We hove up next morning and for Cleveland did steer.
11 Now the Roberts is in Cleveland, made fast stem and stern,
And over the bottle we'll spin a big yarn.
But Captain Harvey Shannon had ought to stand treat
For getting into Cleveland ahead of the fleet.
12 Now my song is ended, I hope you won't laugh.
Our dunnage is packed and all hands are paid off.
Here's a health to the Roberts, she's staunch, strong and true;
Not forgotten the bold boys that comprise her crew.
Deny down, down, down deny down.
RAGING CANAWL
America has no more genuine folk lore than is in the following recitative, Raging Canawl. It goes best when delivered for a small company by a performer who knows what he is doing. Drolleries lurk in every line. Only those who understand the perils of deep canal life can untie the hawsers of foolery here. The word "canal" is to be pronounced "canawl" so as to rhyme with "squall."
1 Come, listen to my story, ye landsmen, one and all,
And I'll sing to you the dangers of that raging canal;
For I am one of many who expects a watery grave,
For I've been at the mercies of the winds and the waves.
2 I left Albany harbor about the break of day,
If rightly I remember, 'twas the second day of May;
We trusted to our driver, altho' he was but small,
Yet he knew all the windings of that raging canal.
3. It seemed as if the devil had work in hand that night.
For our oil it was all gone, and our lamps they gave no light;
The clouds began to gather, and the rain began to fall,
And I wished myself off of that raging canal.
4 The Captain told the driver to hurry with all speed,
And his orders were obeyed, for he soon cracked up his lead;
With the fastest kind of towing we allowed by twelve o'clock,
We should be in old Schenectady, right bang against the dock.
5 But sad was the fate of our poor devoted bark,
For the rain kept a-pouring faster, and the night it grew more dark,
The horses gave a stumble, and the driver gave a squall.
And they tumbled head and heels into that raging canal.
6 The Captain came on deck, with a voice so clear and sound,
Ciying, "Cut the horses loose, my boys, or I swear we'll all be drowned"
The driver paddled to the shore, altho* he was but small,
While the horses sank to rise no more in that raging canal.
7 The cook she wrung her bands, and she came upon the deck,
Saying: "Alas! what will become of us, our boat it is a wreck?"
The steersman laid her over, for he was a man of sense,
When the bowsman jumped ashore he lashed her to the fence.
8 We had a load of Dutch, and we stowed them in the hole,
They were not the least concerned about the welfare of their soul;
The Captain went below and implored them for to pray,
But the only answer he could get was, "Nix come rous, nix fis staa."
9 The Captain came on deck with a spyglass in his hand,
But the night it was so dark he could not diskiver land;
He said to us with a faltering voice, while tears began to fall,
"Prepare to meet your death, my boys, this night on the canal/*
10 The cook, she being kind-hearted, she loaned us an old dress,
Which we raised upon a setting pole as a signal of distress;
We agreed with restoration, aboard the boat to hide,
And never quit her deck whilst a plank hung to her side.
11. It was our good fortune about the break of day,
The storm it did abate, and a boat came by that way;
Our signal was discovered, and they hove alongside.
And we all jumped aboard and for Buffalo did ride.
12 I landed in Buffalo about twelve o'clock,
The first place I went to was down to the dock;
I wanted to go up the lake, but it looked rather squally,
When along came Fred Emmons and his friend, Billy Bally.
13 Says Fred, "How do you do, and whar have you been so long?"
Says I, "For the last fortnight I've been on the canal;
For it stormed all the time, and thar was the devil to pay.
When we got in Tonawandy Creek we thar was cast away."
14 "Now," says Fred, "Let me tell you how to manage wind and weather,
In a storm hug to the towpath, a&4 then lay feather to feather;
And when the weather is bad, and the wind it blows a gale,
Just jump ashore, knock down a horse that's taking in a sail.
15 And if you wish to see both sides of the canal,
To steer your course to Buffalo, and that right true and well,
And it be so foggy that you cannot see the track,
Just call the driver aboard and hitch a lantern on his back,"
THE E-RI-E
When hard work and the monotony of life overshadowed the souls on the Erie Canal, the crew did what so many sailors and longshoremen ever have done. They took to drink and to song and to hopes for an end of the voyage, to voicing in a tune their feelings about how life used them up and left them unsung and unwept. The preacher, Koheleth, who sings so rhythmically in the Book of Ecclesiastes, ''Vanity of vanities, all is vanity/' or Omar in his short-spoken pessimism, arrive at a
philosophy somewhat like that sung here. Some might call it "realistic in the method of approach." It tries for laughter at monotony and fate. We have this text and tune from Robert Wolfe and Oliver R. Barrett of Chicago. The canal's name is enunciated in three syllables, viz., "E-ri-e."
1 We were forty miles from Albany,
Forget it I never shall,
What a terrible storm we had one night
On the E-ri-e Canal.
Refrain: Oh the E-ri-e was a-rising
The gin was getting low
And I scarcely think
We'll get a drink
Till we get to Buffalo,
Till we get to Buffalo.
2 We were loaded down with barley,
We were chuck up full of rye;
And the captain he looked down at me
With his goddam wicked eye.
Refrain:
3. Oh the girls are in the Police Gazette,
The crew are all in jail;
I'm the only living sea cook's son
That's left to tell the tale.
Refrain: