31 Oct

Driving Saw Logs on the Plover

There walked on Plover’s shady banks one evening last July,
A mother of a shanty-boy, and doleful was her cry,
Saying, “God be with you, Johnnie, although you’re far away,
Driving saw-logs on the Plover, and you’ll never get your pay.

“Oh, Johnnie, I gave you schooling, I gave you a trade likewise.
You need not been a shanty-boy had you taken my advice.
You need not gone from your dear home to the forest far away,
Driving saw-logs on the Plover, and you’ll never get your pay.

“Why didn’t you stay upon the farm and feed the ducks and hens,
And drive the pigs and sheep each night and put them in their pens?
Far better for you to help your dad to cut his corn and hay,
Than to drive saw-logs on the Plover, and you’ll never get your pay.”

A log canoe came floating a-down the quiet stream.
As peacefully it glided as some young lover’s dream.
A youth crept out upon the bank and thus to her did say,
“Dear mother, I have jumped the game and I haven’t got my pay.

“The boys called me a sucker and a son-of-a-gun to boot.
I said to myself, O Johnnie, it is time for you to scoot.’
I stole a canoe and I started upon my weary way,
And now I have got home again — but nary a cent of pay.”

Now all young men take this advice: If e’er you wish to roam,
Be sure and kiss your mothers before you leave your home.
You had better work upon a farm for a half a dollar a day,
Than to drive saw-logs on the Plover, and you’ll never get your pay.

This month we have a rare instance of an old traditional song where we know the identity of its composer. “Driving Saw-Logs on the Plover” was written in 1873 by William Allen of Wausau, Wisconsin. William Bartlett, a local historian in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, knew Allen personally and connected him with song collector Franz Rickaby in the early 1920s. Thanks to notes and documents saved by Bartlett and Rickaby we know a lot about Allen, who put some of his songs out under the pseudonym “Shan T. Boy.”

Allen was born in 1843 in St. Stephen, New Brunswick just across the river from Calais, Maine. His parents were both immigrants from Ireland. The family moved to the western shores of Lake Michigan in 1855 where they lived first in Cedar River, Michigan in the Upper Peninsula and then Manitowoc, Wisconsin before heading inland to Wausau. After apprenticing with a timber cruiser near Green Bay, Allen returned to Wausau in 1868 (age 25) to begin a long career as a cruiser himself. Cruisers would roam the woods estimating the quantity and quality of trees for harvesting.

Allen’s work as a cruiser provided a context for singing and song writing. In a letter to Bartlett, he wrote “I had occasion to visit a great many logging camps in the course of each winter, and it was customary for me to sing for the lumber-jacks in lumber-jack style… …Several of my poems are sarcastic descriptions of characters and failings of our respectable (?) citizens, and I have been threatened with libel suits and shot-guns on several occasions.” “Driving Saw-Logs on the Plover” does not name any particular crooked boss but it certainly paints a grim picture of a shanty boy who, after enduring the labor and danger of a log drive, realizes his employer has no intention of paying him.

Allen based the song text and melody on a popular broadside ballad called “The Crimean War” or “As I Rode Down Through Irishtown” (see Northwoods Songs #10). It is a well worn melody in the Irish tradition. Ontario singer Bob McMahon had a nice twist on it when he sang it for Edith Fowke in 1959. I have blended McMahon’s melody with the melody and text given by Allen to Rickaby here.

31 Oct

Young Monroe

Come all you jolly shanty boys, wherever you may be,
I hope you’ll pay attention and listen unto me,
Concerning a young shanty boy so manfully and brave,
It was on a jam at Garray’s rocks where he met with a watery grave.

It was on a Sunday morning as you will quickly hear,
Our logs were piling mountain high, we could not keep them clear,
When the boss he cries, “Turn out, me boys, with hearts devoid of fear,
To break the jam on Garry’s rocks and for Eagantown we’ll steer.”

Some of them were willing, while others they hung back,
To work upon a Sunday they did not think was right,
Until six of our young Canadians they volunteered to go,
And break the jam on Garry’s rocks with their foreman, young Munroe.

They had not rolled off many logs when the boss to them did say,
“I would have you to be on your guard, for this jam will soon give way.”
Those words were scarcely spoken when the jam did break and go,
And carried away those six young men with their foreman, young Munroe.

When the rest of those young shanty boys they came, the news to hear,
In search of their dead bodies for the river they did steer,
When one of their lifeless bodies found to their sad grief and woe,
All cut and mangled on the rocks was the form of young Munroe.

They took him from his watery grave, combed down his coal-black hair,
There was one fair form among them whose cries did rend the air;
There was one fair form among them, a girl from Saginaw town,
Her tears and cries would rend the skies for her lover that was drowned.

Miss Clara was a noble girl, likewise a raftsman’s friend,
Her mother was a widow living by the river’s bend,
The wages of her own true love the boss to her did pay,
And a liberal subscription she received from the shanty boys next day.

They took and buried him decently, being on the tenth of May,
And the rest of you young shanty boys, it’s for your comrade pray!
It is engraved on a little hemlock tree, close by his head it does grow,
The day and date of the drowning of this hero, young Munroe.

Miss Clara did not survive long to her sad grief and woe;
It was less than two weeks after she, too, was called to go,
It was less than two weeks after she, too, was called to go,
And her last request was granted her, to be laid by young Munroe.

Now, any of you shanty boys that would like to go and see,
On a little mound by the river side there grows a hemlock tree;
The shanty boy cuts the woods all round, two lovers here lie low,
Here lies Miss Clara Dennison and her lover, young Munroe.

This month marks the 100-year anniversary of Irish-Minnesotan singer Michael Cassius Dean sending a copy of his song book, The Flying Cloud, to song collector Robert Winslow Gordon. Accompanied by a brief note on a postcard featuring Virginia, Minnesota’s 10-year-old high school building, this parcel led to one of the earliest audio recordings of traditional music in Minnesota. Twelve months later, inspired by this collection of 166 songs from Dean’s repertoire, Gordon went in search of Dean with his wax cylinder recording machine in tow.

Dean’s version of “Young Monroe” was one of the songs recorded by Gordon in September 1924 and the above transcription is my own made from the Gordon recording. The full text above comes from Dean’s book.

“Young Monroe,” often titled “The Jam at Gerry’s Rocks,” was one of the most widely sung come-all-ye type songs about logging work. Versions were collected all over the US and Canada. For a nice recording, check out this one of Ted Ashlaw. Ashlaw lived in a similar part of northern New York to where Dean grew up and his melody, though similar to Dean’s, has some nice twists to it.

31 Oct

Ye Noble Sons of Canardie

Come all you loyal Britons I pray you lend an ear,
Draw up your loyal forces and then your volunteers,
Oh we’re going to fight those Yankee boys, by water and by land,
And we never will return till we conquer swords in hand.
Oh you noble sons of Canardie, come to arms boys come.

O now the time has come, my boys, to cross the Yankee line,
We remember they were rebels once, and conquer’d John Burgoyne.
We’ll subdue those mighty Democrats, and pull their dwellings down,
And we’ll have the states inhabited with subjects to the crown.
Oh you noble sons of Canardie, come to arms boys come.

I’d rather fight the biggest fleet that ever crossed the seas,
Than twenty of those Yankee boys behind their stumps and trees,
For from hedges and from ditches and from every tree and stump,
You can see those sons of b—— those cursed Yankees jump.
Oh we’ve got too far from Canardie, run for life, boys, run.

O Prevost sighed aloud and to his officers did say,
The Yankee troops are hove in sight and hell will be to pay,
Shall we fight like men of courage, and do the best we can,
When we know they’ll flog us two to one, I think we’d better run.
Oh we’ve got too far from Canardie, run for life, boys, run.

The old ’76s marching forth, on crutches they do lean,
With their rifles leveled at us with their specs they take good aim,
And you know there’s no retreat for those who’d rather die than run,
Make no doubt that these are those that conquered John Burgoyne.
Oh we’ve got too far from Canardie, run for life, boys, run.

We’ve reached the British ground, my boys, we’ll have a day of rest,
I wish my soul that I could say ‘twould be a day of mirth,
But I’ve left so many troops behind, it causes me to mourn,
If ever I fight the Yankees more, I’ll surely stay at home.
Now we’ve got back to Canardie, stay at home, boys, stay.

A health to all the British troops, likewise general Prevost,
A health to all our families, and the girls that we love most,
To MacDonough and Macomb, and to every Yankee boy,
Now boys fill up your tumblers for I never was so dry.  
Now we’ve got back to Canardie, stay at home, boys, stay.

For this month’s song, we revisit the repertoire of the Phillips family of Chamberlain, Minnesota for a song about the Battle of Plattsburg during the War of 1812. Collector Robert Winslow Gordon recorded three verses (verses 1, 3 and 5 above) from the Phillips family in September 1924. Interestingly, he chose to record just one verse a-piece from brothers Reuben and Seymore and Reuben’s son Israel. The melody above is my transcription based on the three recordings which are quite similar in melody. Verses 2, 4, 6 and 7 above were taken from an 18 verse printed broadside of the song.

“Canardie” is a poetic reworking of “Canada” and the Phillips family had a close connection to the British invasion, via Canada, of northern New York during the War of 1812. According to Early History of the Town of Hopkinton [NY], Seymour and Reuben’s maternal grandfather Samuel Goodell (1778-1822) was briefly taken prisoner during a British Army raid on Hopkinton, New York’s ample flour supply in February 1814. The nearby Battle of Plattsburgh described in the song proved to be the decisive Yankee victory in the war. The song, though told from the British perspective, is clearly a Yankee composition.

The final verse mentions the two Irish-American military leaders credited with the Plattsburgh victory: US Army Brigadier General Alexander Macomb and naval Master Commandant Thomas Macdonough. Macomb’s father was from Ballynure, County Antrim and Macdonough’s great-grandfather hailed from Leixlip, County Kildare.

Broadside woodcut courtesy of Toronto Public Library’s Digital Archive Ontario