Sea shanties and maritime music

For without his chanty the seaman could not have worked the under-manned and underfed, and often sty-fed, vessels in which he went up and down the world; he could not have set sail to favoring breeze or furled it from destroying gale. There is nothing like a song to lift any kind of work along; and a chanty was then – and still is, on the few square-rigged wanderers left on the seas – as good as ten men on a rope's end, capstan-bar, or windlass-brake.

William Brown Meloney IV, The Chanty Man Sings, 1926

This Day in History (February 29, 1908)

This Day in History (January 8, 1806)

The death of Lord Nelson was a national tragedy like no other for England. "From Greenwich to Whitehall Stairs, on the 8th of January, 1806, in one of the greatest Aquatic Processions that ever was beheld on the River Thames" drifted the royal shallop (barge). The event is referenced in the modern lament, Carrying Nelson Home. Nelson is mentioned in nearly a dozen other songs.

Try a random shanty sampling

Bold Manning
Forecastle song

Bold Manning was to sea one day
And a dreary day it was, too
As dreary day as ever you see
All wet with fog and dew
They spied a large and lofty ship
About three miles ahead
"Come h'ist up our maintops'l, boys,
And after her we'll speed

He called unto his bosun,
Whose name was William Craig:
"Oh Craig oh Craig come up on deck
And h'ist up our black flag!"
His bosun was a valiant man,
His heart was stout and bold.
But when he saw his father's ship,
He felt his blood run cold.

Now, Manning's ship you all do know
That ship of noted fame,
With five hundred seamen and fifty brass guns
As brave and crafty fellows
As ever ploughed the, main.

Lines missing

They ploughed the main all that night
Until they reached the Fame
And bore right down upon her
And sheered up alongside.
With his loud-speaking trumpet:
"Whence come you," he cried

"Where are you from?" cried Manning
"I pray you tell me true,
For if to me you tell a lie,
It'll be the worse for you."
"We are the Fame, to New York sailed
For Liverpool we're bound.
Our captain's name is William Craig
A native of that town."

"Oh, no! Oh, no! " cried Manning
"These things can never be true
So heave your main yard to the mast
And let your ship lay to
And if you think my orders
Are not fit to obey
With grape shot and canister
I'll sink you where you lay!"

These poor, affrighted seamen,
Not knowing what to do,
They hove their main yard to the mast
And let their ship lay to.
These bold and crafty pirates,
With broadsword in hand,
They went on board of the merchant ship
And slaughtered every man.

Some they shot and others they stabbed
And all of them they drowned
And most of these poor fellows
Lay bathing in their blood.
They hunted the ship all over
And ransacked everything,
Until they came to a female
In the after mess cabin.

She, not hearing of the murders
Or knowing what was done,
Played upon her own guitar.
True sweetily she sung:
"Home, home, sweet, sweet home;
'Tis for an absent lover that caused me to roam"

Some did stomp and some did swear
They would make her their bride.
"Stand back, stand back!" said Manning
"I'll enter [An end to?] all your strife
He boldly rushed upon her,
Without fear or dread.
He boldly rushed upon this female
And severed off her head.

These bold and crafty pirates,
Not caring what they done,
They went on board of the pirate ship
And boldly crack of dawn [crack-ed on?]
With a kag of rum on the capstan,
So boldly they did sing,
To the mid watch of that night
You might hear their echoes ring

"We pirates lead a merry, merry life
And a merry, merry life lead we!
And when a strange sail heaves in sight
We'll haul her under our lee.
When the jolly, jolly grog is flowing
Light falls [Ri fol] the dol i day!

Oleanna

I Oleana der er det godt at være,
i Norge vil jeg inte Slavelænken bære!

Ole-Ole-Ole oh! Oleana!
Ole-Ole-Ole oh! Oleana!

I Oleana der faar jeg Jord for Intet,
af Jorden voxer Kornet, — og det gaar gesvint det.

Aa Kornet det tærsker sig selv oppaa Laaven,
imens ligger jeg aa hviler mig i Koven.

Hej Markedsgang! Poteterne skulde Du se, Du.
Der brændes mindst en Pot af hvereneste en Du.

Ja Bayerøl saa godt, som han Ytteborg kan brygge,
det risler i Bækkene til Fattigmandens Hygge.

Aa Laxene dem springer saa lystig i Bække,
dem hopper selv i Gry den aa roper: dem ska' dække!

Åa brunstegte Griser de løber om saa flinke
åa forespør sig høfligt, om Nogen vil ha' Skinke.

Aa Kjørene dem melker aa kjærner aa yster
liksaa naturlig som Else, mi Syster.

Åa Storstuten sjelve staar inte og hænger,
han banker sine Kalve, fordi de gaar og slænger.

Aa Kalvene de slagter sig hurtig og flåar sig
aa stejker sig fortere end man tar en Taar sig!

Aa Høna værper Æg saa svære som Stabur,
mens Hanen angir Tiden som et ottedags Slaguhr.

Fra Skyerne det regner med Kolerakaker.
Aa Gubevare Dere vel for dejlige Saker!

Aa Sola hu skinner saa trufast hele Natta
saa atte man kan se i Mørke liksom Katta!

Aa Maanen hver Aften er fuld — det er sikkert.
Jeg ligger just aa ser paa'n med Flaska tel Kjikkert.

Ja to Daler Dagen det faar Du for at svire,
aa er Du rektig doven, saa kanske Du faar fire.

Åa Kjærringa og Unger dem falder paa Kommynen.
Betaler dem ikke, såa faar dem paa Trynen!

Kronarbejde findes ej — nej det var saa ligt da!
jeg såd nok ikke ellersen saa frisk her aa digta.

Vi gaar i Fløjelsklæder besat med Sølverknapper,
Aa ryker af Merskum, som Kjærringa stapper.

Aa Kjærringa maa brase aa styre aa stelle —
aa blir hu sint, saa banker hu sig sjelv — skal jeg fortælle.

Aa Fiolin det speller vi Allesammen — hejsan!
Aa Danser en Polskdans, aa den er'nte lejsan.

Ja rejs til Oleana, saa skal Du vel leve,
den fattigste Stymper herover er Greve!

I Oleana langt heller vil jeg være,
end længer i Norg min Slavelænke bære!

Ole-Ole-Ole oh! Oleana!
Ole-Ole-Ole oh! Oleana!
The Cruise of the Bigler
Forecastle song

Now my boys if you will listen, I'll sing you a little song,
So sit you down awhile here, I'll not detain you long.
At Milwaukee in October, I chanced to get a "sit,"
On the timber schooner Bigler, Belonging to Detroit.

Ch: Oh, watch her, and catch her, Jump up on her Ju-ba Ju
Oh, give her sheet and let her rip, We're the boys'll put her through!
You ought to've seen her howling, When the wind was blowing free,
On our passage down to Buffalo,
From Milwaukee!

It was a Sunday morning about the hour of ten,
The Robert Emmett towed us into Lake Michigan.
We set sail where she left us in the middle of the fleet,
The wind was from the south’ard, so we had to give her sheet.

The wind came up that night, my boys, and blew both stiff and strong,
And swiftly through Lake Michigan the Bigler ploughed along.
And far before her foaming bows the dashing waves she'd fling;
With every stitch of canvas set, and the courses wing and wing.

But the wind it came ahead before we reached the Manitou,
And two-and-a-half a day, sir, just suited the Bigler's crew,
From this into the Beavers we steered her full and by,
We kept her to the wind, my boys, as close as she could lie.

At Skillagalee and Wabbleshanks, the entrance to the Strait,
We might have passed the fleet ahead if they'd hove to to wait;
But we swept them all before us, the neatest ever you saw,
Clear out into Lake Huron from the Straits of Mackinaw.

At Huron Lake we passed Presque Isle, and then we bore away;
The wind being fair we soon flew by the Isle of Thunder Bay.
The captain ordered a sharp lookout, the night it being dark,
Our course was steering south-southwest for the light on Point aux Barques.

Now we're off of Point aux Barques, on Michigan's east shore,
A-booming for the river as we've often done before.
Abreast Port Huron light, my boys, both anchors we let go,
And the Sweepstakes came along and took the Bigler in tow.

She took the nine of us in tow, we all were fore and aft,
She towed us down to Lake St. Clair and stuck us on the flats.
The Hunter eased her tow-line to give us some relief,
And the Bigler went astern and smashed right into the Maple Leaf.

And then the Sweepstakes left us outside the river light,
Lake Erie's blustering winds and stormy waves to fight.
We laid to at the Hen and Chickens, the wind it blew a gale,
And we had to lay till morning, for we could not carry sail.

We made the Eau and passed Long Point, the wind being fresh and free,
And down the Canadian shore we humped, Port Colborne on our lee.
Oh, what is that ahead of us? We knew as we drew near,
'Tis the light upon the "Dummy''; we are nigh to Buffalo pier.

Now the Bigler she's arrived at Buffalo port at last,
And under Reed's elevator the Bigler she's made fast.
And in some lager-beer saloon we'll take a social glass,
We'll all be jolly shipmates, and we'll let the bottle pass.

Oh, now my song is ended, and I hope it pleases you.
Let's drink to the old Bigler, her officers and crew.
I hope she'll sail till kingdom come, command of Cal McKee,
Between the port of Buffalo and Mil-wau-kee.