Chapter 11

CHANTIES

The signing on and the sailing from Liverpool or London docks of these vessels were not only exciting but pathetic occasions. The chief officer usually had authority to pick the crew. The men would be brought into the yard and formed into line. The chanty-man was generally the first selection, and care was taken that the balance should be good choristers, and that all were able to produce good discharges for conduct and ability. It was a great sight to see the majestic-looking vessels sail away. The dock walls would be crowded with sympathetic audiences who had come not only to say farewell, but to listen to the sweet though sombre refrain that charged the air with the enchanting pathos and beauty of "Goodbye, fare you well." The like of it has never been heard since those days. Attempts have been made to reproduce the original, and have failed. Nobody can reproduce anything like it, because it is a gift exclusively the sailors' own, and the charm filled the soul with delightful emotions that caught you like a strong wind.

The chanty-man was a distinguished person whom it was impolitic to ignore. He was supposed to combine the genius of a musical prodigy and an impromptu poet! If his composition was directed to any real or even imaginary grievances, it was always listened to by sensible captains and officers without showing any indications of ill-humour. Indeed, I have seen captains laugh very heartily at these exquisite comic thrusts which were intended to shape the policy of himself and his officers towards the crew. If the captain happened to be a person of no humour and without the sense of music this method of conveyance was abortive, but it went on all the same until nature forced a glimpse into his hazy mind of what it all meant! Happily there are few sailors who inherit such a defective nature. It is a good thing that some of these thrilling old songs have been preserved to us. Even if they do not convey an accurate impression of the sailors' way of rendering them, they give some faint idea of it. The complicated arrangement of words in some of the songs is without parallel in their peculiar jargon, and yet there are point and intention evident throughout them. For setting sail, "Blow, boys, blow" was greatly favoured, and its quivering, weird air had a wild fascination in it. "Boney was a warrior" was singularly popular, and was nearly always sung in hoisting the topsails. The chanty-man would sit on the topsail halyard block and sing the solo, while the choristers rang out with touching beauty the chorus, at the same time giving two long, strong pulls on the halyards. This song related mainly to matters of history, and was sung with a rippling tenderness which seemed to convey that the singers' sympathies were with the Imperial martyr who was kidnapped into exile and to death by a murderous section of the British aristocracy. The soloist warbled the great Emperor's praises, and portrayed him as having affinity to the godlike. His death was proclaimed as the most atrocious crime committed since the Crucifixion, and purgatory was assigned as a fitting repository for the souls of his mean executioners. The words of these songs may be distressing jargon, but the refrain as sung by the seamen was very fine to listen to:--

HAUL THE BOWLING (SETTING SAIL)

Haul th' bowlin', the fore and maintack bowlin', Haul th' bowlin', the bowlin' haul! Haul th' bowlin', the skipper he's a-growlin', Haul th' bowlin', the bowlin' haul.

Haul th' bowlin', oh Kitty is me darlin', Haul th' bowlin', the bowlin' haul. Haul th' bowlin', the packet is a bowlin'; Haul th' bowlin', the bowlin' haul.

As for the song itself, it was as follows:--

BONEY WAS A WARRIOR

Oh, Boney was a Corsican, Oh aye oh, Oh, Boney was a Corsican, John France wa! (François.)

But Boney was a warrior, Oh aye oh, But Boney was a warrior, John France wa.

Oh, Boney licked the Austrians!-- Oh aye oh, Oh, Boney licked the Austrians!-- John France wa!

The Russians and the Prussians! Oh aye oh, The Russians and the Prussians! John France wa.

Five times he entered Vienna! Oh aye oh, Five times he entered Vienna, John France wa.

He married an Austrian princess, Oh aye oh, He married an Austrian princess, John France wa.

Then he marched on Moscow, Oh aye oh, Then he marched on Moscow, John France wa.

But Moscow was a-blazing! Oh aye oh, But Moscow was a-blazing, John France wa.

Then Boney he retreated, Oh aye oh, Then Boney he retreated, John France wa.

Boney went to Waterloo, Oh aye oh, Boney went to Waterloo, John France wa.

And Boney was defeated, Oh aye oh, And Boney was defeated, John France wa.

Oh Boney's made a prisoner, Oh aye oh, Oh Boney's made a prisoner, John France wa.

They sent him to St. Helena! Oh aye oh, They sent him to St. Helena, John France wa!

Oh Boney was ill-treated! Oh aye oh, Oh Boney was ill-treated, John France wa!

Oh Boney's heart was broken! Oh aye oh, Oh Boney's heart was broken, John France wa.

Oh Boney died a warrior;-- Oh aye oh, Oh Boney died a warrior, John France wa.

But Boney was an Emperor! Oh aye oh! But Boney was an Emperor, John France wa!

This song never failed to arouse the greatest enthusiasm, so much so that the officer in charge had to keep a keen eye on what was going on and shout out "belay!" before something should be broken! The sailors' regard for the great Emperor was a passion; and as they neared the final tragedy they seemed to imagine they were in combat with his foes, so that it was dangerous to leave them without strict supervision.

One of the most rollicking and joyous days the sailor had during a voyage was that on which his dead horse expired; that is, when his month's advance was worked out. If he took a month's advance, he always considered that he had worked that month for nothing: and, literally, he had done so, as the money given to him in advance usually went towards paying a debt or having a spree; so it was fitting, considering these circumstances, that special recognition should be made of the arrival of such a period. An improvised horse was therefore constructed, and a block with a rope rove through it was hooked on to the main yardarm. The horse was bent on, and the ceremony commenced by leading the rope to the winch or capstan, and the song entitled "The Dead Horse" was sung with great gusto. The funeral procession as a rule was spun out a long time, and when the horse was allowed to arrive at the yard arm the rope was slipped and he fell into the sea amid much hilarity! The verse which announces his death was as follows:--

"They say my horse is dead and gone;-- And they say so, and they say so! They say my horse is dead and gone;-- Oh, poor old man!"

The verse which extinguishes him by dropping him into the sea goes like this:--

"Then drop him to the depths of the sea;-- And they say so, and they say so! Then drop him to the depths of the sea;-- Oh, poor old man!"

This finished the important event of the voyage; then began many pledges of thrift to be observed for evermore, which were never kept longer than the arrival at the next port, or at the longest until the arrival at a home port, when restraint was loosened. The same old habits were resumed, and the same old month's advance was required before sailing on another voyage.

The "White Stocking Day" was as great an event ashore as the Dead Horse day was at sea. The sailors' wives, mothers, or sweethearts always celebrated half-pay day by wearing white stockings and by carrying their skirts discreetly high enough so that it might be observed. This custom was carried out with rigid regularity, and the participators were the objects of sympathetic attraction. Poor things, there is no telling what it cost them in anxiety to keep it up. Their half-pay would not exceed thirty shillings per month, and they had much to do with it, besides providing white stockings and a suitable rig to grace the occasion.

"We're homeward bound and I hear the sound," was the favourite song when heaving up the anchor preparatory to pointing homeward. This chanty has a silken, melancholy, and somewhat soft breeziness about it, and when it was well sung its flow went fluttering over the harbour, which re-echoed the joyous tidings until soloist and choristers alike became entranced by the power of their own performances; and the multitudes who on these occasions came to listen did not escape the rapture of the fleeting throbs of harmony which charged the atmosphere, and made you feel that you would like to live under such sensations for ever!

HOMEWARD BOUND (HEAVING THE ANCHOR)

Our anchor's a-weigh and our sails are well set;-- Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well! And the friends we are leaving we leave with regret;-- Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

We're homeward bound, and I hear the sound;-- Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well! Come, heave on the cable and make it spin round!-- Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

Oh let ourselves go, and heave long and strong;-- Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well! Sing then the chorus for 'tis a good song;-- Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

We're homeward bound you've heard me say;-- Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well! Hook on the cat-fall, and then run away! Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

After a long, dreary pilgrimage of trackless oceans, the last chant had to be sung as their vessel was being warped through the docks to her discharging berth; and now all their grievances, joys, and sorrows were poured forth in "Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!" It was their last chance of publicly announcing approval or disapproval of their ship, their captain, and their treatment. Here is a sample of it:--

"I thought I heard the skipper say, 'Leave her, Johnnie, leave her! To-morrow you will get your pay, Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!'

The work was hard, the voyage was long;-- Leave her, Johnnie, leave her! The seas were high, the gales were strong;-- It's time for us to leave her!

The food was bad, the wages low;-- Leave her, Johnnie, leave her! But now ashore again we'll go;-- It's time for us to leave her!

The sails are furled, our work is done! Leave her, Johnnie, leave her! And now on shore we'll have our fun! It's time for us to leave her! &c, &c."

Such songs were not stereotyped in their composition. They varied according to circumstances. Sometimes they were denunciatory, and at other times full of fun, praise of the ship, and pathos. There was seldom a middle course, but whatever side was taken the spontaneous poetic effusion was not ended until the whole story had been unfolded.