Part 2

There’s a place where you see the Atlantic heave Like water boiling hot; Where you come with grief and with joy you leave, And they call it the Devil’s Pot.

Now there was a witch in the good old time, And she had such power, they say, Through rocks or stones or sand or lime, She could always make her way.

One night on a broom she went with a whirr; The devil he saw her fly, And the devil he fell in love with her As she went sailing by.

She flew like the devil to scape away, And the devil so did he, And she jumped from her broom without delay And she dived to the bottom of the sea.

And she bored a hole when she got down, And round and round she twirled, And closed it behind as she went on, Till she went straight through the world.

And the devil he dived in the water deep, And he made it boil like pitch As he roared and raved with many a leap, But he never could find the witch.

And still he stirs it by night and day, And seeks and finds her not; And that is the reason, the sailors say, Why it’s called the Devil’s Pot.

“They say that there are witches everywhere,” Said Jones of Chesapeake, “a livin’ free; Some in the rocks, some flyin’ in the air, And some, in course, like fishes in the sea. I’ve often heard strange voices in the night— They wan’t no birds I’ll swer, nor any sitch— One called me once by name; it gim’me fright— And that I’m sartin was a water-witch. One can’t in nat’ral wise account for that, All you can call it is a Mr. E—— But there are witches, I will bet a hat; And so I’ll sing the song of One, Two, Three, Fust drinkin’ all your healths,”—no more he said, But in a good round voice went straight ahead:

[2] The Devil’s Pot is a place on the North Atlantic route where, according to sailors, there is always bad weather.

ONE, TWO, THREE

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-calling for the 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.

This being cheered, I said, “Some time ago I made a song in the Italian tongue About a witch and pirate—which for you Shall, if you like, be now in English sung.” “No, give it first,” cried Saltonstall, “by jingo! In its own nateral, Eyetalian lingo; What I don’t know of it ain’t worth a cent; Even to Rome I several times have went, In Naples, too, I’ve had full many a turn And know old Spartivento like a dern; And most of us, I reckon—though we’re Yankee— Can go the Dago, or some _lingua frankey_. We ain’t so ignorant of what we know; So go ahead, Signor—_prestissimo_! Ef we don’t catch the sense ’twill be a pity.”— So thus encouraged I began my ditty:

LA BELLA STREGA

Era una bella strega Che si bagnava alla riva; Vennero i pirati, Lei presero captiva.

Il vento era in poppa, Sull’onde la nave ballò, La donna lacrimante Al capitan parlò:

“O Signor Capitano! O Capitan’ del mar! Daro cento ducati Se tu mi lasci andar!”

“Non prenderò cento ducati, Tu costi molto più, Io te vendrò al Sultano,” Disse il Capitano “Per mille zecchini d’oro Vi stimi troppo giù.”

“Non vuoi i cento ducati. Ebben, tu non gli avrai, Ho un’amante amato Non mi abbandona mai.”

Essa sedé sul ponte, Principiò a cantar: “Vieni il mio amante!” Da lontano il vento Si mette a mugghiar.

Forte e più forte La tempesta ruggio: Gridava il Capitano: “Io credo che il tuo amante E il vento che corre innante, Ovvero il diavolo.”

Forte e più forte La procella urlò: “Sono roccie davanti, E il vento vien di dietro, Ben venuto sei tu, mio amante!” La bella donna cantò.

“Vattene al tuo amante All’inferno a cantar!” Disse il Capitano, E gettò la donna fuori Della nave nel mar.

Ma come un gabbiano Sull’onde essa volò: “O mio Capitano! Non sarai appiccato, Ma sarai annegato; Per sempre addio!”

“That’s derned good Dago,” cried Jack Saltonstall; “Blamed ef I didn’t understand it all. For the best songs are easiest understood: Now then let’s hear if t’other side’s as good! A song is like a bird—’cos birds do sing— So carve us out the second breast and wing; And with your anthem bid our hearts rejoice:” Encouraged thus I lifted up my voice.

THE BEAUTIFUL WITCH

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 capitain, 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!”

“Talkin’ of witches and magicianers,” Cried out Jack Saltonstall of Newbury port, “They are the devil’s own parishioners, And I knew one of a peculiar sort, Because he was a sailor—had he been A lawyer, now, it wouldn’t seem so queer: For conjurers ’mong us ain’t often seen, And he was of the kind who ain’t small beer, Possessing cash enough to roll in bliss: However that may be, the story’s _this_.”

THE WITCH’S BOX

Once when I went upon a trip Likewise to the Southern sea, We had a man upon the ship And a wonderful man was he.

A handsomer man I never did spy, At home or in any port; But there was something in his eye Of a most peculiar sort.

And all in Trinidado’s port Was a woman fair and rich, With her my messmate did consort, And I heard she was a witch.

Her eyes, like his, had a greenish glare, They seemed to be quite of a level, And the general look of the loving pair Was exactly the look of the devil.

Now when it was time to up and lift, And the ship must leave the docks, He came aboard with her parting gift, A brown little wooden box.

Now this man had hardly a shirt to his back, When he started on this trip, And the mate declared that such a Jack Was a regular shame to the ship.

Then this man he winked a dreadful wink, And said to the mate, “I’ll be floored: But I’ve got more clothes in my box, I think, Than all of the men on board.”

Now his box was only one foot square, And what was our surprise When he opened it and pulled out a pair Of shirts before our eyes!

Next came a hat and a jacket blue, With trousers of the best, For everything was nice and new, And so on with all the rest.

And when he was drest, all spick and span, We observed upon our oaths That we didn’t believe even our old man Had got such a suit of clothes.

Twenty-four hours arter, I heard him say, And I thought it was very strange: “I never wear my clothes but a day And now it is time to change.

“I make you a gift on ’em fair and plain, With a quid of tobacco to boot.” Sayin’ this he opened his box again, And pulled out another new suit.

And the same thing happened the very next day, At about the very same bells, He took off his second suit so gay, And gave it to somebody else.

So it happened every day again, Till he’d rigged us all from his store; And such a dandy lot of men Were never in a ship before.

Then we never had any scrimmages For fear of spilin’ our slops: We looked like the graven images Before the tailors’ shops.

But a man named Knox from Edinboro toun, Always took the thing amiss, And often remarked with a doubtful frown: “There is something eereligious in this!”

So one day when our friend had opened his box, Before we could prevent, Up behind him came Mr. Knox And dropped in his New Testament.

There came a flash of lightning bright, And an awful thunder’s roar, And the box and the sailor went clean out o’ sight, And we never beheld ’em more.

And all to ashes and all to wreck Went our clothes, and we looked forlorn, For there we were standing on the deck As naked as we were born!

And this is the lesson short and small, Which we learned from our liberal friend, That the things which cost you nothing at all Never come to any good in the end.

And when the laugh at this had died away, Mose Brown of Bristol in the whaling line Said: “Mermaids are the witches of the sea, Which in good looks are really superfine. And on this subject I will give a song, Which I daresay you all already know, But anyway it isn’t very long, Though it was made a hundred years ago, I guess that mermaids were much plentier then; Perhaps they’re scared of steamboats and the swell Which drives the fish as foxes do a hen— So like the steamers I will now propel.”

THE MERMAID

One Friday morning we set sail[3] It was not far from land, When I espied a fair mermaid, With a comb and a glass in her hand. _Chorus._ And the raging winds do blow, blow, blow, And the raging winds do blow; And we poor sailors climbing up aloft, And the land lubbers lying down below.

Then up spoke the boy of our gallant ship And a well-spoken boy was he: “I’ve a mother and father in London town, And this night they will weep for me.”

Then up spoke the captain of our gallant ship, And a well-spoken man was he: “I’ve a wife who is living in Liverpool town, A wife whom I never shall see.”

“My wife who is living in Liverpool town This night will be looking for me; She may look till the sun no more goes down, She may look to the bottom of the sea.”

Then three times around went our gallant ship, And three times around went she; And three times around was the end of her trip, When she sank to the bottom of the sea.

[3] There may be a few readers to whom it is necessary to point out that this first ballad of the “Mermaid” is an old song, here used as introduction to a second by me, which is of the same nature.

THE MERMAN

Then another man said when that song was sung: There are men like you and me, Who will sometimes come ashore and get sprung, Yet who live at the bottom of the sea.

For I myself knew one of that folk (I believe he still lives and thrives), And I’ll tell you the truth without any joke How we saved one another’s blest lives.

I was walking one night in New York town, And the moon shone bright and clear, When I thought I heard a singular sound That came from a board-yard near.

First was a groan of misery, And then a scythe of pain; And a voice which wailed: “Oh where is the Sea? Which I never shall see again?”

And I thought that party must be cracked, Or a little over the bay; Because the water was not, in fact, A half of a mile away.

So I looked that sufferin’ mortal up, And found, sufficiently soon, A man who looked like a perishin’ pup, As he lay in the light of the moon.

And I said to him, “Matey, just confess What all of this row’s about, And what was it got you into this mess, And how can I get you out?”

Then this man he opened his eyes so wide: “No more do I ask of thee Than to carry me down to the water’s side, And chuck me right into the sea.”

And I says, “’Tis a singular thing to ask, But I think it can be no sin, And anyhow ’tis an easy task To carry and pitch you in.”

So I picked that perishin’ person up, And slewed him on my back, And he wriggled and moved with many a flup Like a codfish or a jack.

But when I had carried him half the way, He seemed to be half-way done, And when we had got ’longside of the bay, I guessed that his life was gone.

But when he heard the water splash, He opened his eyes—you bet! And said: “If you only will make a dash— Good Lord! there’s a chance for me yet!”

And when we came to the water’s edge, I never a word did say, But carried him right to the end of the Ledge, And dumped him into the Bay.

And then he gin a yell of delight, And then he warbled a tune, As he swam about in the water bright, All there in the light of the moon.

And he hollered to me his partin’ thanks, And said: “I am outer my pain; Good-bye! I’m off for the ’Foundland Banks; Some day we shall meet again.”

Now when a year had passed I found Myself in a Southern sea, A-wrecked; for all on board were drowned, And nobody saved but me.

And as I sat upon the turf, And looked at the water blue, A man came walking out of the surf, And says to me: “How do you do?

“I think you don’t remember me, Allow me to let you know I’m the fellow that you threw into the sea— In New York—a year ago.

“My home is down in the Ocean deep, And sometimes—would you think? I go ashore when men are asleep To a tavern to take a drink.

“My mother was a mermaid fair, She lived down in the sea; And my father he was a Dutch sailór, So it came that I am what I be.

“And I can walk about on land Until my clothes are dry, But that brings up to the end of my sand, For then I must surely die:

“And my soul sail off for Doldrum Isle, Unless some one pities my pain, And carries me down where the waters bile, And puts me in ’em again.

“One turn deserves another, ahoy! And John must settle with Jack; You treated me like a brother, old boy And now I will pay you back.

“In this bag there is more than a thousand pound, And I give it all to you: In a Spanish galloon that money I found, (It’s a thing which I frequently do).

“But in this place you’d be sure to spile, So now I will give you a tip: Just walk to the other side of this isle, And there you will find a ship.

“You’ll find her there as sure as you’re born; Her name is the _Clara Belle_, She sails for Havanna in the morn, So, matey—fare-you-well!

“Farewell—for here I cannot bide.” He turned his back to the shore, And walked right into the risin’ tide, And I never beheld him more.

So we never should doubt of a mystery, There are lots of ’em round us still; For nobody knows what’s down in the sea, And nobody ever will.

Said Brown, “That story now goes home to me. Folks say a witch, a wizard, and a Finn, Are all jint partners in all deviltry, The Devil himself of course bein’ counted in; And of these Northern conjurers I can sing A song if you will join me in the chorus. First take your drinks—that is the prudent thing, We never know in life what lies before us.” Which having done, himself he did begin The wondrous ballad of the “Wizard Finn.”

THE WIZARD FINN

As I suppose, you all have heard There’s no good luck with a Finn on board, I can tell you that is so. I’ve sailed with one and I ought to know: For it is true, upon my word, There’s no good luck with a Finn on board.

Eric Jansen was his name, And from Christián’ he came; A seemly man all for to see, But devil a bit the man for me: For it is true, as all have heard, There’s no good luck with a Finn on board.

From the hour he joined the ship, All went wrong in all the trip; ’Twas nothing but swear and growl and groan, And the weather was just the devil’s own: You may reckon it all absurd, But there’s no good luck with a Finn on board.

Our grub was spoiled from that first hour, Except the vinegar all was sour; All you heard was Lubber! and Liar! And everything hot except the fire: For it is true, as all accord, There’s no good luck with a Finn on board.

For as the doctors all do know, A Finn has fins between each toe: He is web-footed like a duck; Which is the cause of his bad luck: For it is true, as I averred, There’s no good luck with a Finn on board.

And when at last it got so bad, That master and men were nigh gone mad, A rummerin’ whisper did begin That ’twas all along of this here Finn: For it is true, and on re-córd There’s no good luck with a Finn on board.

And the long and short of this debate Was that one night our second mate, Bein’ as mad as a man might be, Pitched Eric Jansen into the sea: For it is true, unless I’ve erred, There’s no good luck with a Finn on board.

When all at once around there came Over the sea a greenish flame, And the biggest whale I ever spied, Rose up by Eric Jansen’s side: For it is true, as you may’ve inferred, There’s no good luck with a Finn on board.

And the Finn he got upon the whale, And off in the flame we saw them sail; Hearing a song as they fell behind, Like women singing with the wind: For it is true, as all have concurred, There’s no good luck with a Finn on board.

Off from the ship and off the shore, And Eric Jansen we saw no more; But from that hour, aboard that ship, All went well for the rest of the trip: For it is true, upon my word, As you and I have often heard, People may say it’s all absurd, And yet it holds as I averred, And bein’ a fact it’s on recórd, Unless the best of men have erred, As you may truly have inferred, In which observers have concurred: There’s no good luck with a Finn on board.

“That story of the Finn,” said one to Brown, “Is of the kind which hev been salted down, Which is the reason, I suppose, why you Take such a lot of pains to prove it’s true. When tales are c’rect in all their fitnesses, There ain’t no need of forty witnesses, Nor one at all I guess, but that’s enough; Now listen to the song of ‘Charley Buff,’ Who always said, ‘I am a truthful man:’” He polished off his drink and thus began:

CHARLEY BUFF

Oh Charley Buff was his parents’ joy, And as he always told, He went to sea as a cabin-boy Before he was one year old.

_Chorus._ Now this is pretty bad, But it’s nothin’ to what’s a-coming: Yet Charley he was a truthful lad, And never indulged in humming.

And this Charley Buff allays said to me: “To lie I cannot afford, For you know I hev got more truth in me Than all of the rest on board.

“I have seen in the isle of Barriboo Such high-sized coco-nuts, That the natives used to split ’em in two And use ’em to make their huts.

“I hev seen the Kanaka women Foller a ship’n full sail, A thousand miles a-swimmin’ For a bottle or a tenpenny nail.

“I hev seen the eggs of the toodly-wang; It’s a bird in the Muldive Isles; And when they hatch they burst with a bang You can hear five hundred miles.

“From a Cariboo king named Jocko, A man of cheerful life, For only a fid of tobacco I bought me a beautiful wife.

“One night she was gone, by gum! But as soon as ever I missed her, From the king for a glass of rum I bought her younger sister.

“One evening for their tea Her family broiled and ate her; ‘Never mind!’ says the king to me, ‘Just go and pick out a better.’”

_Chorus._ Now this is pretty bad, Yet it’s nothin’ to what’s a-coming; But I hear the old man a bawlin’ like mad, So I guess I will stop my humming.

“Wal,” answered Brown, “that comes it rather strong. Now if you like I’ll sing a pirate’s song Of which you all have heard at times a bit; I’ve jined ’em into one to make ’em fit, Like beads upon a string, altho’ I fear It’s partly pirate and part mutineer.”

BOLD ROBIN ROVER

Bold Robin Rover Said to his crew: “Up with the black flag And down with the blue! Up with the Black Boy! All men to show, Over the water And off let us go!”

A man-of-war he hailed us: “Come under my lee!” “See you damned,” said the pirate, “For I’d rather sink at sea, In the blue water Far out and free, Cruising down on the shore By the coast of Barbary.”

We met the _Flying Dutchman_, By midnight he came, His hull was all of hell fire, His sails were all o’ flame; Fire on the main-top, Fire on the bow, Fire on the gun-deck, Fire down below!

Four-and-twenty dead men, Those were the crew, The devil on the bowsprit Fiddled as she flew.

We gave her a broadside Right in the dip, Just like a candle, Out went the ship.

We met a gallant vessel A-sailing on the sea, For mercy, for mercy, For mercy, she did plea; But the mercy we gave her We sunk her in the sea; Cruising down on the shore By the coast of Barbary,

Four-and-twenty Spaniards, Mighty men of rank, With their golden ladies Had to walk the plank, Over the gunwale Into the sea, Cruising down on the shore, By the coast of Barbary.

Oh devil take the captain! And devil take the ship! And devil take the cargo! And devil take the trip! And devil take the bo’su’n! And devil take his call! And devil take the doctor! And devil take ’em all!