III. Men at Work: 1. Soldiers & Sailors

III. 1. SOLDIERS AND SAILORS



CONTENTS: III. 1. Soldiers and Sailors

The Frenchman's Ball..........198
The True Paddy's Song..........200
Trench Blues............202
Old King Cole............204
Santy Anno.............206
Haul Away, My Rosy..........208
The Low-Down, Lonesome Low........210
The High Barbaree...........212
Greenland Whale Fishery.........214
The Beaver Island Boys..........215
Dark-Eyed Canaller...........218
The Bigler.............220
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III. 1. SOLDIERS AND SAILORS

FRENCHMAN'S BALL
eb. No. 3729. Elmer George, North Montpelier, Vt., Nov., 1939. See H. H. Flanders, A Garland of Green Mountain Song. Printed by permission, text rearranged.  
   
1.  I have two sons and a son-in-law,
Fighting in the wars in America,
I have two sons and a son-in-law,
Fighting in the wars in America.

CHORUS: But I don't know if I'll see them more
Or whether I'll visit old Ireland's shore,
To the rum-die-ah, fa-da-diddle-ah,
Whacks to the lady to the rum-die-ah.
 
2   My son Terry is nice and trim,
To every leg he has one shin,
I spied two ships a-comin' on the sea,
"Halliloo, Bubilloo, an' I think 'tis you." (Chorus.)

3   "O ships, O ships, will you wait awhile,
Till I find Terry, my own child?"
He's mamma's pet and darling boy,
He's the ladies t'y*  and the girls' own joy. (Chorus.)

4  "Oh, wasn't you cunning, oh, wasn't you cute!
You didn't git way from the Frenchman's shoot,
'Tis not a divilish shin or Itg you have at all,
They was all knocked off at the Frenchman's ball." (Chorus.)

5   "O Terry, Terry, Terry, divil a bit of God in you,
That you didn't git away from the Frenchman's shoot."
"O mother dear, you'd ought to I've seen the fun
When the Frenchman's ball took the legs off me." (Chorus.)

6   "Mother dear, you'd ought to know,
If the boys enlist they've got to go,
There stands old Bonypart, stalks all round,
Fight or die or stand your ground." (Chorus.)

7   "My son Terry is neat and trim,
To every leg he has one shin,
He's mamma's pet arid darling boy
He's the ladies' t'y* and the girls' own joy,
To the rum-die-ah, fa-da-diddle-ah,
Aye de rather rather rum-die-ah.

[* "Toy."]

THE TRUE PADDY'S SONG
B. No. 2353. Mason Palmer, Newberry, Mich., 1938. See Sh, 2:228.  
   
   
1   Nine years ago I was diggin' up the land,
With me brogues on me feet and me shovel in me hand;
Says I to meself, "What a pity for to see
Such a tall handsome laddy diggin' turf on the Dee!"

Chorus: Mushadoo,
Mushadoo, a-daddy doo-a-dum.

2  So I laid down my shovel, shook hands with my spade,
And it's off to the wars like a jolly young blade,
Next the sergeant of the army he asked me to enlist,
"Be my long-whiskered japers, put some money in my fist."

3  "Now, here's a half a crown and a half a penny more,
You go to that corner and you git a half a score.
"Go up to headquarters, is that what's to do?
I don't want to be quartered, sir; neither do you!
 
4  "No headquarters like that, it ain't what I mean,
You go to headquarters and they'll fit you out in green,
You go to headquarters and they'll fit you out so rare
That the ladies will all laugh at you coming to the fair."

5   Now the first thing they gave me it was an overcoat,
With two sets, of leathers to buckle up me throat,
And a sword at the side and a pistol in me hand,
Swore to kill everything before me at the word of command.

6  Now the next thing they gave me it was a gray horse
All saddled, all bridled, all fitted for the course.
I threw my leg over her and gave her the steel,
And the stiff-necked devil run away through the fields.

7  Now, the next thing they give me, it was a long gun
And under the trigger they planted me thumb,
Placed me finger on the trigger and the thing begin to smoke,
And it give me poor shoulder a devil of a poke.

8   Now I says to McGuire, "You may think it quite grand
To place such a tool in any man's hands.
No, Mister McGuire, I think I shall retire
For the thing is running mad, can't you see her spitting fire?"

9  Now, nine years ago, thank God, I had such luck
At the battle of the Hills and the battle of the Muck,
Why, the smoke it was so thick and the fire it was so hot,
Save my soul, I dare not shoot for fear of getting shot.

10. Now nine years are over, I've nothing to defend
And I am safe back in old Ireland again.
Why, the smoke it was so thick and the fire it was so hot,
Save my soul, I dare not shoot for fear of getting shot.

11 Oh! it's nine years ago, and I'm glad it isn't ten;
They've taken me back to the Old Sod again!
Without a shilling in my pocket, just as rich as I begun!
And this is the end of the true Paddy's Son.

TRENCH BLUES
No. 242. Ace. on guitar and sung by John Bray (Big Nig), Amelia, La., 1934. See "Careless Love," L0.3, p. 137, p. 218.
"Big Nig" of Amelia, Louisiana, stood six feet and seven inches in his socks. Alan, on one of our visits, measured the spread of his mighty arms as an inch longer. When he works, "Big Nig" is the singing leader o( a gang of Negroes who snake cypress out of the Louisiana swamps. "Big Nig" booms his signals to the flatboat out on the black bayou, the engineer toots his reply, and the logs come busting through the tangled swamp forest. Ten whistles means "A man dead."

On our first visit we mistakenly tipped "Big Nig" in advance of his sing­ing, only to find out later that he had become too drunk to sing; A year or so afterwards repeated, visits put on records the singing and guitar picking of this remarkable man. The "Trench Blues," according to "Big Nig," was composed during the World War when he was a soldier in France. "They didn't give me a gun," said "Big Nig"; "all the weapons I ever had was my guitar, a shovel, and a mop."

The tune resembles "C. C. Rider" and "Careless Love" in Negro Folk Songs As Sung by Lead, Belly (Macmillan, 1936).
—Adventures of a Ballad Hunter

1. When I was a-stealin' 'cross the deep blue sea, Lawd,
I's worryin' with those submarines,
Worryin' with those submarines,
Hey, hey, hey, hey.

2   My home in the trenches, livin' in a big dugout,
Lawd, my home in the trenches, livin' in a big dugout,
Home in the trenches, livin' in a big dugout,
Hey, hey, hey, hey.

3   We went a-hikin' to the firing line.
"Uncle Sammy, hear your men's a-cryin'," (2) Hey, hey, hey, hey.

4  Raining here, stormin' on the sea,
"Woman I love, honey, do write to me," (2) Hey, hey, hey, hey.

5  The women in France hollerin', "I no compris,"
Women in America hollerin', "Who wants me?" (2) Hey, hey, hey, hey.

6  We went a-hikin' to old Mount Sac hill,
Lawd, forty thousand soldiers called out to drill, (2) Hey, hey, hey, hey.

7   Uncle Sam sho' don't know I'm here, Uncle Sam sho' don't feel my care, (2) Hey, hey, hey, hey.

8   I went to Belgium, blowed my bugle horn,
Every time I blowed, motherless German gone, (2) Hey, hey, hey, hey.

9  We went to Berlin, went with all our will,
Lawd, if the whites don't get him, the niggers certainly will, (2) Hey, hey, hey, hey.

10  Last old words I heard old Kaiser say,
He was calling those Germans, Lawd, way long the way, (2) Hey, hey, hey, hey.

11   Call him in the mornin', kiss him in the night,
Hit him in the head, make him treat American right, (2) Hey, hey, hey, hey.

12  We went away, leaving our happy home, (3) Hey, hey, hey, hey.

13  Wind a-blowin?, big bell sadly tone,
Many a soldier, Lawd, is dead and gone, (2) Hey, hey, hey, hey.  

OLD KING COLE
No record. Tune, Bess Lomax, text, Col. Henry Breck-enridge, New York City, 1938. 

1. Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he.
He called for his pipe, he called for his bowl,
He called for his privates three.
"Beer, beer, beer," said the privates,
For no one there could compare with the field artilleree.

2   Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he.
He called for his pipe, he called for his bowl,
He called for his corporals three.
"One-two, one-two, one," said the corporals,
"Beer, beer, beer," said the privates,
For no one there could compare with the field artilleree.

3   He called for his sergeants three.*
"Forward right by squads," said the sergeants.

4  He called for his lieutenants three.
"We want ten days leave," said the lieutenants

5   He called for his captains three.
"We want much more pay," said the captains.

6  He called for his majors three.
"The army's gone to hell," said the majors.

7  He called for his colonels three. "Nuts, nuts, nuts," said the colonels.

8   He called for his generals three.
"We want no more war," said the generals.

[* Each stanza should be expanded as the second from the first.]

SAILORS
Wraf me in my tarfaulin jacket
And say a foor buffer lies low, lies low}
And six stalwart lancers shall carry me
With step mournful, solemn, and slow,
I know I shan't get into heaven.
And I donyt want to go down below-o-o-o.
Oh, ainh there some flace in between them
Where this foor old buffer can go? 
 Where the laughing dolfhins flay,
Where the shrimfs and sharks are having their larks,
Ten thousand miles away,
*          *          # 
 SANTY ANNO
e. No. 652. J. M. Hunt ("Sailor Dad"), Marion, Va., 1935. See Bo, p. 129; Col, p. 84} Wha, p. 65j also "Round the Bay of Mexico," this volume, p. 88.
Captain Richard Maitland, blue-water sailor, eighty years old but with a body like an oak stake, says about the shanties:
"Don't you suppose we sang shanties all the time! It was only when we hit the forties and half the ocean was coming over our side and you didn't feel like, pulling for God's sake that we used the histing shanties. They put heart in a man, and we could all pull together better."
i We're sailing down the river from Liverpool, Heave away, Santy Anno; Around Cape Horn to Frisco Bay, All on the plains of Mexico.
Chorus:
So heave her up and away we'll go, Heave away, Santy Anno; Heave her up and away we'll go, All on the plains of Mexico.
2   She's a fast clipper ship and a bully good crew, Heave away, Santy Anno;
A down-East Yankee for her captain, too, All on the plains of Mexico.
3   There's plenty gold, so I've been told, Heave away, Santy Anno;
There's plenty gold, so I've been told, Way out West to Californio.
4  Back in the days of Forty-nine, Heave away, Santy Anno;
Those are the days of the good old times, All on the plains of Mexico.
5   When Zacharias Taylor gained the day. Heave away, Santy Anno;
He made poor Santy run away, All on the plains of Mexico.
6   General Scott and Taylor, too, Heave away, Santy Anno;
Made poor Santy meet his Waterloo, All on the plains of Mexico.
7  When 1 leave the ship, I will settle down, Heave away, Santy Anno,
And marry a girl named Sally Brown, All on the plains of Mexico.
8   Santy Anno was a good old man, Heave away, Santy Anno;
Till he got into war with your Uncle Sam, All on the plains of Mexico. 
 HAUL AWAY, MY ROSY
BK No. 652. J. M. Hunt ("Sailor Dad"), Marion, Va.j 1935. See Col, p. 41 j Wha, p. 85.
"This song was a song we used in hoisting the sails. The chorus comes on the last word of the verse to give the full. It's usually one fully buty suffosing the mate or the second mate who's officer of the watch turns out wrong side to} he may think the work is going too slowy heHl let a yell out of himy lDouble uf! Double uf on that song! I ain't got all night to wait!' Then it means that you take a full on the first fart of the shanty and the second fart also."                                             —Captain Dick Maitland. 
  
  
 You- talk a -bout your har-bor girls A - round the corn-er Sal -~ly.
i You talk about your harbor girls Around the corner Sally.
Chorus:
Way, haul away, Haul away, my Rosy; Way, haul away, Haul away, my Johnsy-o.
2  They couldn't come to gee With the girls from Ruble
Alley.
3   I once had a French girl, But she was all a-posy.
4  Now, Pve got an English girl, I treat her like a lady.
5  When we sailed into Glasgow, I met a bonny lassie 5
6  She was handsome, young, and
fair, And sweet as Masses candy.
7  Oh, once I was in Ireland Digging turf and praties,
8  Now, Pm in a Yankee ship, A-hauling sheets and braces.
9  Oh, once I had an Irish girl And she was fat and lazy;
10  And next I got a German girl And she was fat and grazy,
11   And now Pve got a Yankee girl And she damn near drives me
crazy.
12  Then we sailed away from Liv-
erpool, Bound for Rio Janerio;
13  We loaded cargo there, my
boys, And we took it mighty easy.
THE LOW-DOWN, LONESOME LOW
A. No. 2506. Acc. on guitar and sung by Blaine Stubble-field, Washing-ton, D.C., 1939. See "The Golden Vanity," Child No. 286} Sh, 1:2825 Ga.2, p. 2145 Col, p. 154; Be, P 97- 
  
 1   "Captain, oh, captain, what will you give me If I will sink the Turkey Reveille,
As she sails in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
As she sails in the low-down, lonesome low?"
2  "Gold and silver, shining so bright
And my fairest daughter shall wed you tonight,
If you sink her in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
If you sink her in the low-down, lonesome low."
 
3   Then he bared his breast and he swam on the sea Till he came along by the Turkey Reveille
As she sailed in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
As she sailed in the low-down, lonesome low.
4  Some with their cards and some with their dice, And some were taking their best friend's advice, As she rowed in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
As she rowed in the low-down, lonesome low.
5  Then he bared his breast and he swam in the tide, And he bored ten holes in the old ship's side, And she sank in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
And she sank in the low-down, lonesome low.
6  Some with their hats and some with their caps Were trying to stop them salt-water gaps,
As she sailed in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
As she sailed in the low-down, lonesome low.
7  Then he bared his breast and he swam in the tide Until he come along by his own ship's side,
As she rolled in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
As she rolled in the low-down, lonesome low.
8   "Captain, oh, captain, take me on board,
For if you don't you have forfeited your word,
As you sail in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
As you sail in the low-down, lonesome low."
9  "Sailor boy, sailor boy, don't appeal to me,
For you drowned fifty souls when you sank the Reveille,
As she sailed in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
As she sailed in the low-down, lonesome low."
10  "If it wasn't for the love that I have for your men, I would serve you the same as Pve served them, As you sail in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
As you sail in the low-down, lonesome low."
11   Then he hoisted his sails, and away sailed he, And he left the poor sailor boy to drown in the sea, To drown in the low-down,
Low-down, low-down,
To drown in the low-down, lonesome low.
12   So he bared his breast and down swam he,
He swam till he came to the bottom of the sea, And he drowned in the low-down, Low-down, low-down, And he drowned in the low-down, lonesome low. 
 THE HIGH BARBAREE
No record. Text sent in by Capt. A. E. Dingle, Cove Cottage, West Bermuda. Tune from Stanton Henry King's Book of Charities^ p. 25 (Oliver Ditson Co., N. Y., 1918) See Wha, p. 78.
i There were two lofty ships from old England came, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we 5
One was the Prince of Luther; and the other, Prince of Wales, Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree.
2  "Aloft there, aloft!" our jolly boatswain cries, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we 3
"Look ahead, look astern, look aweather and alee, Look along down the coast of the High Barbaree."
3   "There's naught upon the stern, there's naught upon the lee," Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;
"But there's a lofty ship to windward, and she's sailing fast and free. Sailing down along the coast of the High Barbaree."
4  "Oh, hail her, oh, hail her!" our gallant captain cried, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we.
"Are you a man-o'-war or a privateer," said he, "Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree?"
5   "Oh, I am not a man-o'-war nor privateer," said he, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;
"But I'm a salt-sea pirate a-looking for me fee, Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree."
6  Oh, 'twas broadside to broadside a long time we lay, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;
Until the Prince of Luther shot the pirate's masts away, Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree.
7  "Oh, quarter, oh, quarter," those pirates then did cry, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;
But the quarter that we gave them—we sunk them in the sea, Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree.
Our Singing Country 
 GREENLAND WHALE FISHERY
d to e. No. 2325. Capt. Asel Trueblood, St. Ignace, Mich., 1938. See Col, p. 1515 Wha, p. 693 Be, 104. 
  
  
 i In eighteen hundred and forty-five, Being March on the twentieth day, Oh, we hoisted our colors to our topmast high And for Greenland forged away, brave boys, And for Greenland forged away.
2  When we struck that Greenland shore With our gallant ship in full fold,
We wished ourselves back safe at home again With our friends all on the shore, brave boys, With our friends along the shore.
3  Our mate he stood on the forecastle yard With a spyglass in his hand,
"There's a whale, there's a whale, there's a whale!" cried he, "And she blows at every span, brave boys, And she blows at every span."
 
4  Oh, when this whale we did harpoon She made one slap with her tail.
She capsized our boat, we lost five of our crew, Neither did we Catch that whale, brave boys, Neither did we catch that whale.
5   "Sad news, sad news," to our captain we cried, Which grieved his heart in. full store,*
But the losing of five of his jolly, jolly crew, Oh, it grieved him ten times more, brave boys, Oh, that grieved him ten times more.
6  "Hist your anchors then, brave boys," said he. "Let us leave this cold countery
Where the storm and the snow and the whalefish does blow, And daylight's seldom seen, brave boys, And daylight's seldom seen."
* "In full sore,"
THE BEAVER ISLAND BOYS
d. No. 2274. Tune, Bominick Gallegher: ttxty A.A.F.S. No. 2273. Johnny Green, Beaver Island, Mich., Sept., 1938. See Ri, p. 159.
"It was in '74 that this song was composed by a man by the name of Daniel Malloy. He was an old whale fisherman. He spent two years among the Eskimos up in the North Pole when he was whale fishing.
"Three men went out of this harbor in a small boat to go to Traverse City for supplies^ and they left there in a gale of wind. They only had a twenty-four-foot boaty and she foundered and they were all lost.
"That was in '73, and I was born in y6j. The way I remembery my father left home with those boys that was drownded, and when he got to Traverse City and was ready to come backy old Captain Roddy, who had a little sailing vessel there y coaxed him to stay over and come home with him next day when it would be comfortable. He knew it wasn't jit for them to go out in that open boaty that small boaty understand? It was blowin* a gale of windy it wasy blowiny the tops right off the seas.
"My father was goiny right down in the boaty and Roddy said} * Dominic ky you aren't crazyy are youy to go in that boat today?' 'Well? he saidy 'Pll tell you: my wife is sicky and I want to get home.3 'Well/ he saidy 'it's better
for your wife to be without you for two or three days than to be without you forever.' And my uncle Roddy went down into the boat} and he took my father by the shoulder an' he kept him from goin\
"We heard the next morning that the boat was lost. Well, my mother knew that my father was in the boat, you see, because he had left the harbor and went to Traverse City with them} and she didn't know of this Roddy bein' in Traverse City. And when the news came and the re fort was that all hands was lost, I remember runnin' and hangin' around mother. I couldn't realize what they were all cryin' about. I had six sisters and they were all home and they were all cryin', too. That night they had a wake and all just as though he was there, and all the next day the neighbors came around.
"Well, when this Captain Roddy came home the next day in his vessel and when they come to St. James, the harbor, they heard there that we had held a wake over father that night. My father and this Captain Roddy was great friends, and some of 'em got a jug of whisky and they started home re­joicing that he didn't come in the boat that was lost. When my father come home he started to dance—he was always for singin' and dancin' when he had drinks. (He never drank much except occasionally.) I remember he had some toys for me, the first toys I ever had in my life, a little cast-iron shovel and a little pail, and I left the old folks in the house and went out to dig sand with my little shovel and my little pail. . . . But this is the way old Dan Malloy's song of it goes."
i Come, all brother sailors, I hope you'll draw nigh For to hear of the sad news, it will cause you to cry, Of the noble Johnny Gallegher, who sailed to and fro, He was lost on Lake Michigan where the stormy winds blow.
2   "Oh, Johnny, my dear son, in the dead of the night I woke from a dream which gave me a fright, And to Traverse City I beseech you not to go,
For you'll never cross Lake Michigan where the stormy winds blow.
3   "Oh, mother, dear mother, those dreams are not true, I will shortly return and prove it to you,
For the Lord will protect me wherever I go
And Pll cross o'er Lake Michigan where the stormy winds blow."
4  It was in October in '73,
We left Beaver harbor and haa a calm sea,
Bound away, Traverse City was our destination to go,
We were crossing Lake Michigan where the stormy winds blow.
5  We left Traverse City at nine the next day And down to Elk Rapids we then bore away; We took in our stores and to sea we did go,
For to cross o'er Lake Michigan where the stormy winds blow.
6  At nine that same night a light we did spy That is Beaver Island, we are drawing nigh, We carried all sails, the Lookout, she did go,
We were crossing Lake Michigan where the stormy winds blow.
7  Oh, Johnny got up and he spoke to his crew, He says, "Now, brave boys, be steady and true,
Stand by for your halliards, let your main halliards go,
There's a squall on Lake Michigan where the stormy winds blow."
8  The Lookout she's a-running before a hard gale, Upset went her rudder and overboard went her sail \ The billows were foaming like mountains of snow,
We shall ne'er cross Lake Michigan where the stormy winds blow.
9 Siz own brother Johnny, "It grieves my heart sore To think we will never return to the shore $ God help our poor parents, their tears down will flow; For we'll sleep in Lake Michigan where the stormy winds blow/5 
 DARK-EYED CANALLER (Dark-Eyed Sailor)
e. No. 1007. Capt. P. R. Nye, Akron, Ohio, 1937. See Cox, p. 319; Ma, p. 172j Ga.2, p. 160; Gr, p. 58.
"My sister furnished all except the first stanza to this song. I sent to England for the first stanza and received it with a statement asking six hun­dred dollars for the remainder of the song. Since I already had plenty of stanzas} and didnyt have the six hundred dollarsy I just let the English keep the rest pf their song. This song was known from one end of the Canal to the othery from Cleveland through Akron down to the Ohio River"
—Captain Nye. 
  
  
 1   It was a comely young lady fair. Was walking out to take the air. She met a canaller upon the way,
So I paid attention, so I paid attention, To hear what they did say.
2  "Fair maid," said he, "while you roam alone-The night is coming and the day's far gone."
 
She drew a dagger, and then did cry,
"For my dark-eyed canaller, for my dark-eyed canaller,
Though may he live or die.
3   "My every hope is based on him; True love will wait, true love will win." She said, while tears from her eyes did fall,
" 'Tis my dark-eyed canaller, 'tis my dark-eyed canaller, A-proving my downfall.
4   "His coal-black eyes and curly hair, His flattering tongue my heart ensnared ; Genteel was he, no rake like you,
To advise a maiden, to advise a maiden To slight this jacket blue.
5   "It is six long years since he left our boat, A gold ring he took and gently broke; He left this token:—here's half, you see,
And the other he's keeping, and the other he's keeping To remind him oft of me."
6   Cried William, "Drive him from off your mind, Many as good a canaller as him you'll find; Love turned aside and cold did grow.
Like a winter's morning, like a winter's morning When the hills are clad with snow."
7   When William did this ring unfold, She seemed too struck with joy and woe; "You're welcome, William, I've land and gold
For my dark-eyed canaller, for my dark-eyed canaller, So manly, true, and bold."
8   Come, girls—yes, listen, oh, come and see, And a warning take, oh, take from me. Always be true while your love's away,
For a cloudy morning, for a cloudy morning, Often brings a pleasant day.

THE B1GLER
A to 5b. No. 2323,4.. Tune and part of text from Capt. Asel Trueblood, St. Ignace, Mich., 1939. Remainder of text from R. F. Hasbrook, Bessemer, Mich. See Col, p. 200$ Ri, p. 168.
"I learned this song a good fifty years ago. I was twenty-three at the time. Pve walked the old Bigler's decks many times though I never sailed on her. She was supposed to he the slowest vessel in the fleet, and of course they had winds and all that and she}d bile along like everything hut the other vessels would beat her. They stopped many places on the way down, and a new verse was composed about every place they stopped in and every place they}d pass. And when they got down in Lake Erie, before they got to Buffalo, they met the fleet coming back.
"I knew this feller that composed this song about the Bigler, but I for­got his name. It was a kind of a joky song like, because they got beat. He said they'd V beat the fleet if the fleet had V hove to. The places they stopped in were the whorehouses on the way down, and they*d get in there drinkiny beer and singin' this song, and it bought }em a lot of free beers."
—Captain Asel Trueblood.
"The best known song that came out of the lumber trade on the lakes is the well-known 'Timber-Drover Bigler\ . . . The schooner Bigler, which was evidently carrying a cargo of grain on the trip narrated in the song, was a blunt-nosed, clumsy canaller that was slow and hard to steer. . . . The 'juberju* mentioned in the chorus has been variously described as the jib boom, the rajfee yard, and the crossfire, upon which the sailors at times climbed to ride the halliard down to the deck. . . .}}
—Ivan H. Walton3 University of Michigan
 
 * The singer drops into speaking voice on the last three words of the last stanza. 
 i Come, all my boys and listen, a song Fll sing to you, It's all about the Bigler and of her jolly crew. In Milwaukee last October I chanced to get a sight In the schooner called the Bigler belonging to Detroit. 
 Chqrus:
Watch her, catch her, jump up in her juberju, Give her sheet and let her go, we're the lads can pull her through. Oh, don't you hear us howling, oh, the wind is blowing free, On our down trip to Buffalo from Milwaukee.
 
2   It was on one Sunday morning just at the hour of ten,
When the tug Nickle Roberts towed the schooner Bigler into Lake
Michigan, Oh, there we made our canvas, in the middle of the fleet, Oh, the wind hauled to the southward, boys, and we had to give her sheet.
(Chorus.)
3   The wind come down from the south-southeast, it blowed both stiff and
strong! You had orter seen that little schooner Bigler as she plowed Lake Michigan. Oh, far beyond her foaming bows the fiery waves to fling With every stitch of canvas and her course was wing and wing. (Chorus.)
4  We made Skilagalee and Wabbleshanks, the entrance to the straits, And might have passed the whole fleet there if they'd hove to and wait; But we drove them all before us the nicest you ever saw
Clear out into Lake Huron through the Straits of Mackinac.
5   First Forty-Mile Point and Presque Isle Light, and then we boomed away, The wind being fresh and fair, for the Isle of Thunder Bay.
The wind it shifted to a close haul, all on her sta'b'rd tack, With a good lookout ahead we made for Point aux Barques.
6  We made the light and kept in sight of Michigan's east shore, A-booming for the river as we'd often done before.
And when abreast Port Huron Light, our small anchor we let go; The tug Kate Mofet came aloi*g and took the Bigler in tow.
7  The Mofet took six schooners in tow, and all of us fore-and-aft, She took us down to Lake St. Clair and stuck us on the Flats, She parted the Hunter*s towline in trying to give relief,
And stem to stern went the Bigler smash in the Mapleleaf.
8  Then she towed us through and left us outside the river light, Lake Erie for us to wander and the blustering winds to fight. The wind was from the sou'west, and we paddled our own canoe; Her jib boom pointed the Dummy, she's hell-bent for Buffalo.