Sea shanties and maritime music

[The chanty] is not recreation, it is an essential part of the work on ship-board, it mastheads the topsail yards when making sail, it starts and weighs the anchor, it brings
down the main-tack with a will, it loads and unloads the cargo, it keeps the pumps a-going; in fact, it does all the work where unison and strength are required. I have
heard many an old salt say that a good chanty was worth an extra hand.


Laura Alexandrine Smith, The Music of the Waters, 1888

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

The Jamestown Homeward Bound
Forecastle song

The farmer's heart with joy is filled when his crops are good and sound,
But who can feel the wild delight of the sailor homeward bound?
For three long years have passed away since we left freedom's shore
Our long-felt wish has come at last, and we're homeward bound once more.
Ch: For three long years have passed away since we left freedom's shore
Our long-felt wish has come at last, and we're homeward bound once more.

To where the sky is as clear as the maiden's eye who longs for our return,
To the land where milk and honey flows and liberty it was born.
So fill our sails with the favoring gales, and with shipmates all around
We'll give three cheers for our Starry flag and the Jamestown homeward bound.

To the Mediterranean shores we've been, and its beauties we have seen,
And Sicily's grand and lofty hills and Italy's gardens green,
We've gazed on Mount Vesuvius, with its rugged slumbering dome;
Night is the time in that red clime when the sailor thinks of home.

We've strayed round Pompeii's ruined walls, and on them carved our names,
And thought of its ancient beauties past and vanished lordly dames,
And gazed on tombs of mighty kings who oft in battle won,
But what were they all in their sway with our brave Washington?

And now we have arrived in port and stripping's our last job,
And friendly faces look around in search of Bill or Bob.
They see that we are safe at last from the perils of the sea,
Saying, "You're welcome, Columbia's mariners, to your homes and liberty."

Brasswork
Poem

Oh what is the bane of a lightkeeper’s life
That causes him worry, struggle and strife,
That makes him use cuss words and beat on his wife?
It’s BRASSWORK

What makes him look ghastly consumptive and thin,
What robes him of health, vigor and vim,
And causes despair and drives him to sin?
It’s BRASSWORK

The devil himself could never invent,
A material causing more world wide lament,
And in Uncle Sam’s service about ninety percent
Is BRASSWORK

The lamp in the tower, reflector and shade,
The tools and accessories pass in the parade,
As a matter of fact the whole outfit is made
Of BRASSWORK

The oil containers I polish until
My poor back is broken, aching and still,
Each gallon, each quart, each pint and gill
Is BRASSWORK

I lay down to slumber all weary and sore,
I walk in my sleep, I awake with a snore,
And I’m shining the knob on my bedchamber door
That BRASSWORK

From pillar to post rags and polish I tote,
I’m never without them, for you will please note,
That even the buttons I wear on my coat,
Are BRASSWORK

The machinery, clockwork, and fog signal bell,
The coals hods, the dustpans, the pump in the well,
No I’ll leave it to you mates...If this isn’t...well,
BRASSWORK

I dig, scrub and polish, and work with a might,
And just when I get it all shining and bright,
In come the fog like a thief in the night,
Goodbye BRASSWORK

I start the next day when noontime draws near,
A boatload of summer visitors appear,
For no other reason than to smooch and besmear,
My BRASSWORK

So it goes along all summer, and along in the fall,
Comes the district machinists to overhaul,
and rub dirty paws all over,
My BRASSWORK

And again in the spring, if per chance it may be,
An efficiency star is awarded to me,
I open the package and what do I see?
More BRASSWORK

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud,
In the short span of life that he is allowed,
If all the lining in every dark cloud,
Is BRASSWORK

And when I have polished until I am cold,
And I have taken my oath to the Heavenly fold,
Will my harp and my crown be made of pure gold?
No! BRASSWORK