C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Charles Godfrey Leland (1824–1903)

Songs of the Sea

IN the North End of Boston, long ago,—

Although ’tis yet within my memory,—

There were of gabled houses many a row,

With overhanging stories two or three,

And many with half-doors over whose end,

Leaning upon her elbows, the good-wife

At eventide conversed with many a friend

Of all the little chances of their life;

Small ripples in the stream which ran full slow

In the North End of Boston, long ago.

And ’mid these houses was a Hostelrie

Frequented by the people of the sea,

Known as the Boy and Barrel, from its sign—

A jolly urchin on a cask of wine,

Bearing the words which puzzled every eye,

Orbus in Tactu Mainet, Heaven knows why.

Even there a bit of Latin made a show,

In the North End of Boston, long ago.

And many a sailor, when his cruise was o’er,

Bore straight for it soon as he touched the shore:

In many a stormy night upon the sea

He’d thought upon the Boy—and of the spree

He’d have when there, and let all trouble go,

In the North End of Boston, long ago.

There, like their vessels in a friendly port,

Met many mariners of every kind,

Spinning strange yarns of many a varied sort,

Well sheltered from the ocean and the wind:

In a long, low, dark room they lounged at ease.

Strange men there were from many a distant land,

And there above the high old chimney-piece

Were curiosities from many a strand,

Which often made strange tales and memories flow

In the North End of Boston, long ago.

And there I often sat to hear those tales,

From men who’d passed through storm and fight and fire,

Of mighty icebergs and stupendous whales,

Of shipwrecked crews and of adventures dire;

Until the thought came to me on a time,

While I was listening to that merry throng,

That I would write their stories out in rhyme,

And weave into it many a sailor’s song,

That men might something of the legends know

Of the North End of Boston, long ago.

First it was said that Captain Kidd in truth

Had reveled in that tavern with his crew,

And there it was he lost the Golden Tooth

Which brought him treasure; and the gossips knew

Moll Pitcher dwelt there in the days of yore,

And Peter Rugg had stopped before the door;

Tom Walker there did with the Devil go

In the North End of Boston, long ago.

Nor had I long to wait; for at the word

Some one observed that he had seen in Spain

A captain hung—which Abner Chapin heard,

And said, “I too upon the Spanish Main

Met with a man well known unto us all,

Who nearly hung a captain-general.”

He told the tale, and I did rhyme it so,

In the North End of Boston, long ago.

THERE was a captain-general who ruled in Vera Cruz,

And what we used to hear of him was always evil news:

He was a pirate on the sea—a robber on the shore,

The Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

There was a Yankee skipper who round about did roam;

His name was Stephen Folger, and Nantucket was his home:

And having gone to Vera Cruz, he had been skinned full sore

By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

But having got away alive, though all his cash was gone,

He said, “If there is vengeance, I will surely try it on!

And I do wish I may be damned if I don’t clear the score

With Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!”

He shipped a crew of seventy men—well-armèd men were they,

And sixty of them in the hold he darkly stowed away;

And sailing back to Vera Cruz, was sighted from the shore

By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

With twenty-five soldados he came on board so pleased,

And said, “Maldito Yankee—again your ship is seized.

How many sailors have you got?” Said Folger, “Ten—no more,”

To the Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

“But come into my cabin and take a glass of wine.

I do suppose, as usual, I’ll have to pay a fine:

I have got some old Madeira, and we’ll talk the matter o’er—

My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.”

And as over that Madeira the captain-general boozed,

It seemed to him as if his head was getting quite confused;

For it happened that some morphine had traveled from “the store”

To the glass of Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

“What is it makes the vessel roll? What sounds are these I hear?

It seems as if the rising waves were beating on my ear!”—

“Oh, it is the breaking of the surf—just that and nothing more,

My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!”

The governor was in a sleep which muddled all his brains;

The seventy men had got his gang and put them all in chains:

And when he woke the following day he could not see the shore,

For he was out on the blue water—the Don San Salvador.

“Now do you see that yard-arm—and understand the thing?”

Said Captain Folger. “For all from that yard-arm you shall swing,

Or forty thousand dollars you must pay me from your store,

My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.”

The Capitano took a pen—the order he did sign—

“O Señor Yankee! but you charge amazing high for wine!”

But ’twas not till the draft was paid they let him go ashore,

El Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

The greatest sharp some day will find another sharper wit;

It always makes the Devil laugh to see a biter bit;

It takes two Spaniards any day to come a Yankee o’er—

Even two like Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

DOWN in the sea among sand and stones,

There lives the old fellow called Davy Jones.

When storms come up he sighs and groans,

And that is the singing of Davy Jones.

His chest is full of dead men’s bones,

And that is the locker of Davy Jones.

Davy is Welsh you may hear by his tones,

For a regular Welsher is Davy Jones.

Whenever a fish gets drowned, he moans

So tender-hearted is Davy Jones.

Thousands of ships the old man owns,

But none go a-sailing for Davy Jones.

I SAW three witches as the wind blew cold

In a red light to the lee;

Bold they were and over-bold

As they sailed over the sea,

Calling for One, Two, Three!

Calling for One, Two, Three!

And I think I can hear

It a-ringing in my ear,

A-howling for their One, Two, Three!

And clouds came over the sky,

And the wind it blew hard and free,

And the waves grew bold and over-bold

As we sailed over the sea—

Howling for One, Two, Three!

Howling for their One, Two, Three!

Oh I think I can hear

It a-ringing in my ear,

A-howling for their One, Two, Three!

And the storm came roaring on,

Such a storm as I never did see,

And the storm it was bold and over-bold,

And as bad as a storm could be—

A-roaring for its One, Two, Three!

A-howling for its One, Two, Three!

Oh I think I can hear

It a-howling in my ear,

A-growling for its One, Two, Three!

And a wave came over the deck,

As big as a wave could be,

And it took away the captain and the mate and a man:

It had got the One, Two, Three!

And it went with the One, Two, Three!

Oh I think I can hear

It a-rolling in my ear,

As it went with the One, Two, Three.

A PRETTY witch was bathing

By the beach one summer day:

There came a boat with pirates

Who carried her away.

The ship had a breeze behind her,

Over the waves went she!

“O signor capitano,

O captain of the sea!

I’ll give you a hundred ducats

If you will set me free!”

“I will not take a hundred,—

You’re worth much more, you know;

I’ll sell you to the Sultan

For a thousand golden sequins:

You put yourself far too low.”

“You will not take a hundred?

Very well then, let them be!

But I have a constant lover,

Who, as you may discover,

Will never abandon me.”

On the deck, before the rover,

The witch began to sing—

“Oh come to me, my lover!”

And the wind as it stole over

Began to howl and ring.

Louder and ever louder

Became the tempest’s roar.

The captain in a passion

Thus at the lady swore:—

“I believe that your windy lover

Is the Devil and nothing more!”

Wilder and ever wilder

The tempest raged and rang.

“There are rocks ahead, and the wind dead aft—

Thank you, my love!” the lady laughed

As unto the wind she sang.

“Oh, go with your cursed lover

To inferno to sing for me!”

So cried the angry captain,

And threw the lady over

To sink in the stormy sea.

But changing into a sea-gull,

Over the waves she flew.

“O captain, captain bold,” sang she,

“’Tis true you’ve missed the gallows-tree,

But now you’ll drown in the foaming sea:

O captain, forever adieu!”

WITH sails let fall and sheeted home, and clear of the ground were we,

We passed the bank, stood round the light, and sailed away to sea;

The wind was fair and the coast was clear, and the brig was noways slow,

For she was built in Baltimore, and ’twas time for us to go.

Time for us to go,

Time for us to go,

For she was built in Baltimore, and ’twas time for us to go.

A quick run to the west we had, and when we made the Bight,

We kept the offing all day long, and crossed the bar at night.

Six hundred niggers in the hold, and seventy we did stow;

And when we’d clapped the hatches on, ’twas time for us to go.

We hadn’t been three days at sea before we saw a sail:

So we clapped on every inch she’d stand, although it blew a gale,

And we walked along full fourteen knots; for the barkie she did know,

As well as ever a soul on board, ’twas time for us to go.

We carried away the royal yards, and the stun’s’l boom was gone,

Says the skipper, “They may go or stand, I’m darned if I don’t crook on.

So the weather braces we’ll round in, and the trys’l set also,

And we’ll keep the brig three p’ints away, for it’s time for us to go.”

Oh, yard-arm under she did plunge in the trough of the deep seas,

And her masts they thrashed about like whips as she bowled before the breeze,

And every yard did buckle up like to a bending bow;

But her spars were tough as whalebone, and ’twas time for us to go.

We dropped the cruiser in the night, and our cargo landed we,

And ashore we went, with our pockets full of dollars, on the spree.

And when the liquor it is out, and the locker it is low,

Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, ’twill be time for us to go:

Time for us to go,

Time for us to go,

Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, ’twill be time for us to go.

NOW tell me this, my sailor boy,

As sure as you love your wine,—

Oh, did you ever see a ship

As trim as that girl of mine?

And you who’ve been in many a gale,

And stood on many a deck,

Oh, did you ever see a sail

As white as my true love’s neck?

And you who have been where the red rose blows

In many a Southern place,

Oh, did you ever see a rose

Like those in my sweetheart’s face?

Here’s a cheer for the women with jet-black curls,

Of Spain or of Portugal!

And seven for the Yankee and English girls,

The prettiest of them all!

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