SAILOR MAN
HARMONIZATION BY PAQH
WHISKY JOHNNY Hazel Felman .... 403
BLOW THE MAN DOWN MolUe Nemkovsky . . . 404
THE DEAD HORSE Marion Lychenheim . . . 406
HEAVE AWAY 407
THE WIDE MIZZOURA 408
I CATCH-A DA PLENTY OF FEESH Henry Francis Parks . . . 409
THE HOG-EYE MAN Edward Collins . . . .410
LEAVE HER, BULLIES, LEAVE HER 412
ACROSS THE WESTERN OCEAN 41$
401
WHISKY JOHNNY
Once when the night was wild without and the wintry winds piled snowdrifts around the traffic
signals on Cottage Grove Avenue, Chicago, we sat with Robert Frost and Padraic Colum. The
Gael had favored with Irish ballads of murder, robbery, passion. And Frost offered a sailorman song
he learned as a boy on the wharves of San Francisco.
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As we sailed on the wa - ter blue,
Whis-ky
John-ny!
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good long pull and a strong one too, Whis-ky for my John ny!
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1 As we sailed on the water blue,
Whisky Johnny,
A good long pull and a strong one too,
Whisky for my Johnny.
S Whisky made mo pawn my clothes,
Whisky Johnny,
Whisky gave me this red nose,
Whisky for ray Johnny.
Whisky killed my brother Tom,
Whisky Johnny,
I drink whisky all day long,
Whisky for my Johnny.
4 Whisky stole my brains away,
Whisky Johnny,
The bos'n pipes and I'll belay,
Whisky for my Johnny.
403
BLOW THE MAN DOWN
Robert Frost as a boy in San Francisco learned shanties from listening to sailors and dock- wal-
lopers along the water front. He saved these tunes and verses in his heart. A favorite with him is
Blow The Man Down. It has the lurch of ships, tough sea legs, a capacity for taking punishment
and rising defiant of oppression and tyranny.
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blow the man down! A sau - cy po-
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404
BLOW THE MAN DOWN
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black man or brown, Give me some time to blow the man down, Give me some
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time to blow the man down,
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Blow the man down!
bul - lies!
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1 As I was a-walkin' down Paradise Street
To me aye, aye blow the man down !
A saucy young p'liceman I chanced for to meet;
Blow the man down to me aye, aye, blow the man down!
Whether he's white man or black man or brown,
Give me some time to blow the man down,
Give me some time to blow the man down,
Blow the man down! bullies!
% You're off from some clipper that flies the Black Ball,
To me aye, aye blow the man down!
You've robbed some poor Dutchman of coat, boots, and all;
Blow the man down, &c.
3 P'liceman, p'liceman, you do me much wrong
To me aye, aye blow the man down!
I'm a peace party sailor just home from Hong Kong;
Blow the man down, &c.
4 They gave me six months in Ledington jail
To me aye, aye blow the man down!
For kickin* and fightin* and knockin* 'em down;
Blow the man down, &c.
405
THE DEAD HORSE
The seamen on the old sailing vessels drew a month's pay before sailing. This was, as the folk
proverbs of many nations have it, a dead horse to be paid for. At the end of the first sailing month,
a canvas bag shaped like a horse was stuffed with straw, hoisted to the main yardarm, and given a
sea burial. The ceremonial and its sung and spoken lines varied. Those below were given me in
Philadelphia, by the daughter of a sailing master. Joanna Colcord designates it as a shanty used
for halliards and capstan on American ships.
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They say, old man, your horse will die. And they say so and they hope so. They
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say, old man, your horse will die. O, poor old
horse!
1 They say, old man, your horse will die.
And they say so and they hope so.
They say, old man, your horse will die.
O, poor old horse!
And if he dies they'll tan his hide,
And they say so and they hope so.
And if he dies they'll tan his hide,
O, poor old horse!
8 And now he's gone he's buried deep,
And they say so and they hope so.
And now he's gone he's buried deep,
0, poor old horse!
406
HEAVE AWAY
The name of Henry Clay rhymes with "heave away." What more was wanted? He was
the idolized "Handsome Harry of the West" in the 1840's. This is among the few known work
songs of the slave days of the American negro. It is not a ditty but a sonorous, flexible melody.
Heave a - way, heave a - way! I'd ra - ther court a yel - low gal Than
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work for Hen - ry Clay, Heave a - way, heave a - way! Yel - low
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gal,
want to go. I'd rath - er court a yel - low gal Than
work for Hen - ry Clay. Heave a - way! Yel -low gal, I want to go!
Heave away, heave away !
I'd rather court a yellow gal
Than work for Henry Clay,
Heave away, heave away!
Yellow gal, I want to go.
I'd rather court a yellow gal
Than work for Henry Clay.
Heave away! Yellow gal, I want to go!
407
THE WIDE MIZZOUKA
Regular army men were singing this in 1897. Many years earlier sailonnen were singing it their
way. . . . Shannadore, I am told, may have been the name of a ship. Or it may be the old time
pronunciation of the name of an Indian chief or the historic Virginia valley. When I asked Joseph
B. Fifcr, former governor of Illinois about his early life, he said, "I was born in the Shannadore
Valley. " That was in the early 1840's. . . . The song was used as a capstan shanty, Joanna Colcord
tells us. She notates it with varied time in her book "Roll and Go,'* and comments, "The tune is
very free in its rhythms and cannot be written in one tempo. " How that comment does go for so
many good songs!
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O Shan-na-dore, I love your daugh-ter, Hi - oh, you roll -ing riv - er, 1*11 take her
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'cross the roll-ing wa - tcr, Ah hah, I'm bound a -way 'cross the wide Miz-zou-ra.
O Shannadore, I love your daughter,
Ili-oh, you rolling river,
I'll take her 'cross the rolling water,
Ali-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Miz-
zoura.
For seven years I courted Sally,
Ili-oh, you rolling liver,
For seven more I longed to have her,
Ah-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Miz-
zoura.
3 She said she would not be my lover,
Hi-oh, you rolling river,
Because I was a dirty sailor,
Ah-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Miz-
zoura.
4 A-drinkin' nun and a-chewin* t'baccer,
Hi-oh, you rolling river,
A-drinkin' rum and a-chewin' t'baccer,
Ah-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Miz-
zoiira.
406
I CATCH-A DA PLENTY OF FEESH
At Fishermen's Wharf and on Telegraph Hill in San Francisco they sing in such lingo as the heart
commands. Harry Dick, Lillian Bos, and other occupants of crow nests on the topmost crags and
crannies of Telegraph Hill, have heard this air and verse and have hunted a missing stanza about
the selling of the fish.
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I sail o-ver the o - cean blue,
I catch-a da plen-ty of feosh ; The rain come down like
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And the wind blow thro* my whcesk. Mar - i - an, my good corn-pan,
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I sail over the ocean blue,
I catch-a da plenty of feesh;
The rain come down like hell,
And the wind blow through my wheesk.
O Marian, my good com pan,
Viva le Garibaldi/
Viva, viva 9 viva Vltalianel
409
THE HOG-EYE MAN
A "hog-eye" was sailor slang in the 1850's for a barge that cruised around Cape Horn to San
Francisco, where a dirty, tumultuous little Babylon met all newcomers and offered them a "good
time." Spenders with nuggets of gold and sacks of gold dust met gamblers and women from no-
where, not telling their real names. It was a lighted town that beckoned seamen from afar; it crept
into a sea song, of how the hog-ye men were all the go when they came down to old San Francisco.
I heard the cracked voice of an old time sailor sing it, in 1922, just after R. W. Gordon had him
make a phonograph cylinder record. The singer put in a high falsetto chuckle once in a while as if
the song meant there was joy to corne or mischief ahead or happiness remembered.
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O, the hog - eye men are all the go, When they come down to old
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San Fran - cis - c-o. And a hog -eye,
rail- road nig- ger with his hog - eye,
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Row the boat a - shore, and a hog - eye, O, She wants the hog - eye man.
410
THE HOG-EYE MAN
1 O the hog-eye men are all the go,
When they come down to old San Francisco.
Chorus:
And a hog-eye, railroad nigger with his hog-eye,
Row the boat ashore, and a hog-eye, O,
She wants the hog-eye man.
2 O the hog-eye man is the man for me,
He works all day on the big levee.
8 Now who's been here since I been gone?
A railroad nigger with his sea-boots on.
4 Go bring me down my riding cane,
For Fin going to see my darling Jane.
5 O Sally in the garden picking peas,
II er golden hair hanging down to her knees.
411
LEAVE HER, BULLIES, LEAVE HER
Text A is a hauling song as heard in the port of San Francisco. An earlier version (B), called
Across the Western Ocean, from the R. W. Gordon collection, dates about 1850, after the Irish
potato famine; packet ships carried thousands from Liverpool across to where there was "the Irish
army," the many immigrants to America. "Amelia" is said to trace to the Irish name O'Melia.
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Oh the times are hard and the wa - ges low, Oh leave her, bul - lies, leave her;
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go, It's time for us to leave her.
I guess it's time for us
to
1 Oh the times are hard and the wages low,
Oh leave her, bullies, leave her;
I guess it's time for us to go,
It's time for us to leave her.
Oh don't you hear our old man say,
Oh leave her, bullies, leave her;
To-morrow you will get your pay,
It's time for us to leave her.
ACROSS THE WESTERN OCEAN
1 Oh, the times are hard and the wages low-
Amelia, whar you bound to?
The Rocky Mountains is my home,
Across the Western Ocean.
B
3 To Liverpool I'll take my way
Amelia, whar you bound to?
To Liverpool that Yankee school,
Across the Western Ocean.
The Land of Promise there you'll see
Amelia, whar you bound to?
I'm bound across the western sea,
To join the Irish army.
4 There's Liverpool Pat with his tarpaulin hat-
Amelia, whar you bound to?
And Yankee Jack the packet rat,
Across the Western Ocean.
5 Beware these packet ships, I say
Amelia, whar you bound to?
They steal your hide and soul away,
Across the Western Ocean.
413