Farewell, old boat, and precious freight, McKay and his staunch, strong crew, No more at home shall the cargo wait, For loved ones to come with you. The work she did no other would do, Success would the effort crown, But oh! the anguish of waiting hearts, When the Manistee went down.
CHORUS: Oh! God, it must have been dreadful, To freeze and then to drown, In a storm on Lake Superior, When the Manistee went down.
Fond memory oft will picture here still, Her cabins and decks grow dear, In a storm that made every fiber thrill, McKay spoke words of cheer. Farewell, old boat, and gallant crew, Love will your memories crown, Bot, oh! the darkness, pain and grief, When the Manistee went down.
Another scene of horror, Came when this deep, cold lake, The schooner M. A. Hulbert, with, Twenty brave, strong men, did take. It was next they should lie beneath the wave, When her ballast above were o’er, But we long the helpless ones to save, Whose voices we hear no more.
We have another song this month from the pen of James J. Somers who came to Duluth at age 17 from the Georgian Bay region of Ontario. He was in Duluth in November 1883 when the packet steamer Manistee left Duluth harbor for Ontonagon, Michigan never to return. Tragedy struck again that December when the schooner Mary Ann Hulbert, also out of Duluth, sank near St. Ignace Island at the northern end of Lake Superior.
As with most other songs in Somers’ book, he left us no melody for this one. Andy Irvine’s version of Pat Reilly came into my head when I was looking at Somers’ text so I have tried to adapt it to that melody here. I made a few edits to Somers’ words. The original, along with the rest of his book “Jim’s Western Gems” is available in digital form via archive.org.
To tell the truth I came to Duluth in eighteen eighty-two, The Windsor was the best hotel on Superior Avenue, I walked right in to the lion’s den, the Gilbreths kept the joint, Then nix come arouse to the Cap Norris house or Minnesota Point.
It may seem queer but I did not hear of any iron range, But the big pine trees, bent to the breeze; oh, mister, what a change, No ore docks then but now, gentlemen, look up along the bay, See the docks of ore, hear the whistles roar, as the big boats steam away.
No big flour mills high as the hills; no Duluth Board of Trade, Just two elevators and no speculators—the wheat was just one grade, No electric light, to daze the sight; no monster areal bridge, No electric railway across St. Louis bay; no incline up the ridge.
No Lester park to spoon in the dark; no big automobiles, Not even a bike—every man did hike; them days we eat [ate?] square meals, A restaurant or boarding house looked good, but by the way, They are now out of date—we all want to eat at the St. Louis big, swell cafe.
Just one main road was all we had, and the scally to St. Paul. Every man used an axe; we had no whalebacks—McDougall and Hill looked small. But Jim Hill has growed [sic], he controls [sic] each road, down east and way out West, And they tell me he controls the sea—ask Jim, he can tell you best.
I remember quite well and in song I tell how the Manistee went down, With Catain [sic] McKay and crew that sailed from the Zenith Town, And the Hulbert too sank with her crew far out from any shore, In the water’s deep they all do sleep—we shall never see them more.
I miss each one of my old friends gone, tho [sic] many still remain, Soon we shall meet each other to greet [sic], tho we must part again, This spring I’ll call and see you all and view your city grand, They say you’ve growed beyond Herman town road and you are still annexing land.
We return this month to this fascinating 1913 book of songs and poems by James J. Somers for one of his several lyrics set in Duluth. Like “The Zenith of the West” that I wrote about a couple months ago, “Duluth in Eighty-Two” is chock full of interesting details about Duluth in the late 1800s. We have Lester Park and the aerial bridge here again along with the “incline”—Duluth’s dramatic Incline Railway that was built in 1891 and gave easy access to the city’s beautiful Superior view.
The tragic shipwrecks of the Manistee and Hulbert both happened in 1883, soon after Somers arrived in town (he wrote another song entirely about the wrecks that I’ll share later). The Captain [Michael] Norris, mentioned in the first verse here, was a survivor of the 1874 Superior shipwreck of the Lotta Bernard.
“Duluth in Eighty-Two” also presents some unfamiliar slang. I haven’t figured out what the “scally to St. Paul” might have been (train? stagecoach?). “Nix come arouse” in the first verse was new to me too. Fred L. Holmes, in Old World Wisconsin, writes that, in German Milwaukee “’nix come erous’ is a customary byword for [the German] ‘nichts kommt heraus.’” The September 23, 1937 Perry Daily Journal of Perry, Oklahoma translates the original German phrase “nichts kommt heraus” as “nothing comes forth” but says that in the early 1800s the phrase became vulgarized in German America to “nix come erous” with the meaning shifting to “there’s nothing to it.” H.L. Mencken, in The American Language called nix come erous a German loan-phrase “in decay” that (in 1921) was “familiar to practically all Americans.”
Since Somers’ book does not provide any melodies, I used a tune collected by Franz Rickaby in 1920s Eau Claire from Elide Marceau Fox who used it for the song “Johanna Shay.” I think it fits “Duluth in Eighty-Two” quite well.
They may sing about Killarney’s lakes and the little shamrock shore, Where the River Shannon gently flows, Arrah Gra Machre Asthore, But when a tot, a charming spot filled me with joy and zest, Duluth you are the brightest star, the Zenith of the West.
CHORUS: Come for a stroll where the white caps roll, to the place where you confessed To be my bride, my joy and pride in the Zenith of the West.
They may sing of bonnie Scotland and the heather in the glen, Let Harry Lauder sing in praise of the Highlands and his kin, But let me dream of that beauty stream and the scenes that I love best, Where Lester flows in sweet repose through the Zenith of the West.
So let them sing of other lands but I will sing of mine, As I go sailing “’Round the Horn” while the silvery moon doth shine, O take me back to Fond du Lac where my true love I caressed, I loved her there for she’s as fair as the Zenith of the West.
Come out with me for a “joy ride,” come for a row or sail, Then after dark see Lester Park, see the aerial without fail, Take the “Incline” for a sight sublime when you reach the mountain crest, The electric rays will you amaze in the Zenith of the West.
Though I have wandered far away in other lands so fair, Dear old Duluth I ne’er forgot none could with you compare, In future days I’ll sing your praise for you have stood the test, In 1916 we’ll crown her queen the Zenith of the West.
The nights are cool in summer time each day there comes a breeze, So balmy and refreshing from the Queen of unsalted seas, Duluth for health, Duluth for wealth, and when I’m laid to rest, Just let me sleep near Superior’s deep in the Zenith of the West.
We have a third song this month from the prolific pen of James Somers who spent a sizeable portion of his life in Duluth and composed this song in praise of that place. Somers opens his 1913 book Jim’s Western Gems with a Foreword in which he lists “Zenith of the West” as one of his several composed “songs with their music” that he hoped to publish “in the near future” (seemingly, with melodic transcriptions added?). I have yet to find evidence that Somers did publish a song-focused book but, luckily, the words for “Zenith of the West” appear in Jim’s Western Gems. I have set them here to my adaptation of the tune used by Maine singer Carrie Grover for “The Lily of the West.”
Aerial Bridge in Duluth before it was replaced with a lift bridge in 1929. Detroit Publishing Company.
Duluth’s nickname has long been “The Zenith City.” Beautiful Lester Park is on the east side of Duluth where the Lester River enters Lake Superior. The “aerial” must be Duluth’s famous aerial bridge connecting mainland Duluth to Minnesota Point. At the time Somers published this song (1913) the bridge was an “aerial transfer bridge” where cars and people rode on a suspended gondola across the span. The reference to 1916 (three years in the future when the song was published) is intriguing. It is possible it could be referencing the upcoming 44th annual regatta of the National Association of Amateur Oarsmen which fascinated Duluthians in 1916 but it is hard to imagine that event was already hyped so far in advance. Maybe someone with more Duluth history knowledge than me will have a guess!
I have always loved Duluth and this is a wonderful text full of nods to other Irish songs and conventions of English language ballad-making!
