Capstan, Windlass, and Pumping Shanties

[Dept of PMM Artists & things]

John Cherokee

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Lyrics from Songs of American Sailormen, by Joanna Colcord

John Cherokee was an Indian man, Alabama, John Cherokee! He run away every time he can, Alabama, John Cherokee! Way ay yah! Alabama, John Cherokee! Way ay yah! Alabama, John Cherokee! They put him aboard a Yankee ship, Again he gave the boss the slip. They catch him again and chain him tight, And starve him many days and nights. He have nothing to drink and nothing to eat, So he just gone dead at the boss's feet. So they bury him by the old gate post, And the day he died, you can see his ghost.

[Dept of PMM Artists & things]

Spanish Ladies

Lyrics from Iron Men & Wooden Ships, by Frank Shay
Farewell and adieu to you, my fair Spanish ladies,
Farewell and adieu to you, you ladies of Spain,
For we've received orders for to sail to old England;
But we hope very soon we shall see you again.

Well rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.

Then we hove our ship to with the wind at sou'-west, my boys,
We hove our ship to our soundings for to see;
So we rounded and sounded, and got forty-five fathoms,
We squared our mainyard, up channel steered we.

Well rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.

Now the first land we made it is called the Deadman,
Then Ram Head off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight;
We sailed by Beachy, by Fairlee and Dungeness,
Until we came abreast of the South Foreland Light.

Well rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.

Then the signal was made for the grand fleet for to anchor,
All in the Downs that night for to meet;
Then it's stand by your stoppers, let go your shank painters,
Haul all your clew garnets, stick out tacks and sheets.

Well rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.

Now let every man toss of a full bumper,
And let every man toss off a full bowl;
And we'll drink and be merry and drown melancholy,
Singing, here's a good health to all true-hearted souls.

Well rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.

[Dept of PMM Artists & things]

Storm-Along

Lyrics from Iron Men & Wooden Ships, by Frank Shay
Stormie's gone, that good old man,
To my way hay, storm along, John!
Stormie's gone, that good old man,
To my aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm-along!

They dug his grave with a silver spade,
To my way hay, storm along, John!
His shroud of finest silk was made,
To my aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm-along!

They lowered him with a silver chain,
To my way hay, storm along, John!
Their eyes all dim with more than rain,
To my aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm-along!

An able sailor, bold and true,
To my way hay, storm along, John!
A good old skipper to his crew,
To my aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm-along!

He's moored at last, and furled his sail,
To my way hay, storm along, John!
No danger now from wreck or gale,
To my aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm-along!

Old Stormy has heard an angel call,
To my way hay, storm along, John!
So sing his dirge now, one and all,
To my aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm-along!

[Dept of PMM Artists & things]

Heave Away
a.k.a We're All Bound To Go
Lyrics from Iron Men & Wooden Ships, by Frank Shay
Oh, as I walked down the Landing Stage
All on a summer's morn,
Heave away, my Johnnies, heave away!
It's there I spied an Irish girl
A-looking all forlorn,
And away, my Johnnie boys,
We're all bound to go!

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Tapscott,"
"Good morning, my girl," said he.
Heave away, my Johnnies, heave away!
"Have you got a packet ship
to carry my across the sea?"
And away, my Johnnie boys,
We're all bound to go!

"Oh, yes I have a clipper ship,
She's called the Henry Clay";
Heave away, my Johnnies, heave away!
"She sails away at break of day,
She sails to-day for Boston Bay."
And away, my Johnnie boys,
We're all bound to go!

"Oh, will you take me to Boston Bay
When she sails away at break of day?"
Heave away, my Johnnies, heave away!
"I want to marry a Yankee boy,
And I'll cross the sea no more."
And away, my Johnnie boys,
We're all bound to go!

[Dept of PMM Artists & things]

Yo, Heave Ho!

Lyrics from The Music of the Waters, by Laura Smith
Yo, heave ho!
Round the capstan go!
Round, men, with a will!
Tramp, and tramp it still!
The anchor must be heaved,
The anchor must be heaved.

Yo, ho! Yo, ho!
Yo, ho! Yo, ho!