Reuben Phillips - evergreentrad

31 Oct

The Storm at Sea

Cease rude Boreas blust’ring railer, list ye landsmen all to me,
Messmates hear a brother sailor, sing the dangers of the sea,
From bounding billows first in motion, when the distant whirlwinds rise,
To the tempest-troubled ocean, where the seas contend with skies.

Hark the boson hoarsely bawling, by top sailyards and halyards stand,
Down top gallants quick be hauling, man the top sail hand boys hand,
Now it freshens, set the braces, now the top sail sheets let go,
Luff boys luff don’t make wry faces, up the top sail nimbly clew.

Lovers who on down beds sporting, fondly locked in beauty’s arms,
Fresh enjoyments wonton courting, free from all but love’s alarms,
Round us roars the tempest louder, think what fear each mind appalls,
Harder yet it yet blows harder, now again the boson calls.

The top sail yards point to the wind boys, see all clear to reef each course,
Let the fore sail go, don’t mind boys, though the weather may prove worse,
Fore and aft the main sail sprit set, reef the mizzen see all clear,
Up and each preventer brace get, man the fore sail cheer lads cheer.

Now the dreadful thunder roaring, peal on peal continual crash,
On our heads fierce rainfall pouring, in our eyes blue lightning flash,
One wide water all around us, all above us one black sky,
Different deaths at once surround us, hark what means that dreadful cry?

“The fore mast’s gone” cries every tongue out, o’er our lee twelve feet ’bove deck,
A leak beneath the chest tree’s sprung out, call all hands to clear the wreck,
Quick the land yards cut in pieces, come, my hearts, be stout and bold,
Plum the well the leak increases, four foot water in the hold.

While o’er the ship wild waves are beating, we for wives and children mourn,
Alas, from hence there is no retreating, alas to them there is no return,
Still the leak is gaining on us, both chain pumps are choked below,
Heav’n have mercy here upon us! Only that can save us now.

O’er the lee beam lies the land boys, let the guns o’er board be thrown,
To the pumps come every hand, boys, see our mizzen mast is gone.
The leak we’ve found she cannot poor fast, we’ve lightened her a foot or more,
Up and rig a jury fore mast, she rights she rights, boys we’re off shore,

Now once more on joys we’re thinkin’, since kind fortune spared our lives,
Come the can boys lets be drinkin’, to our sweethearts and our wives.
Fill her up a bout ship wheel it, close to the lips a brimmer join,
Where’s the tempest now who feels it? Now our dangers drown in wine.

This month’s song comes from the repertoire of Reuben Waitstell Phillips (1850-1926) who sent its text to the “Old Songs That Men Have Sung” column of Adventure Magazine in March, 1924. “Old Songs” editor Robert Winslow Gordon later visited Phillips at his home in Chamberlain, Minnesota with his wax cylinder recording machine that same year but no recording of Phillips singing “The Storm at Sea” seems to have survived.

I found the above melody on a recording made in 1939 of singer John Campbell in Underhill, Vermont that is part of the (now digitized) Flanders Ballad Collection. Underhill is just east of Lake Champlain. Phillips grew up in Hopkinton, New York some 70 miles west of that lake. The text above is Phillips’ with many spelling edits (I also filled in the last half of the 7^th verse using the Roundelay book mentioned below).

Most of Phillips’ songs are traceable to early 19^th or 18^th century balladry from England or Scotland that came to New England. “The Storm at Sea” fits this pattern. It appeared in several printed sources in England and Scotland in the 1800s. The song likely originated in the 1700s. For an early printing of the text that some scholars date to the 1780s, see page 125 of the digitized version of the book Roundelay or the New Syren on Google Books.

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

02 Nov

The Hunter’s Death

Ye hunters brave and bold I pray attend
To this relation hear what I have seen
’Twas of a hunter bold
’Twill make your blood run cold
To hear the story told
How he suffered there.

To hunt when he was young was his delight
And when to manhood grown his favorite
To hunt the fallow deer
The roe buck and the bear
The turkey coon and hair
With smaller game.

As people settled round on hill and dale
No ven’son to be found his hunting failed
He went in forty nine
Towards the northern line
It was his hull design
To hunt the grove.

And now comes on the day that was his last
Old Boris [Boreas?] blew away an awful blast
It both rain hale and snow
The stormy winds did blow
They chilled his nature so
Poor man was lost.

All in the drifting snow laid himself down
No further could he go there he was found
His powder so complete
Was strewed from head to feet
That the vermin might not eat
His body there.

You’d wish to know his name and where he’s from
And of what stock he came and where he’s born
He’s of as noble a race
As any in the place
His name ’twas John Lomace
Born in Westfield.

—————

We stay on the hunting theme this month with a wonderfully obscure and fascinating song from the repertoire of Reuben W. Phillips of Akeley, Minnesota. “The Hunter’s Death” was one of 22 handwritten song texts Phillips sent to collector Robert W. Gordon in March 1924. Upon receiving the songs from Phillips, Gordon was drawn to “The Hunter’s Death” in particular for its “peculiar stanza form.” He published the song’s text in the August 20, 1924 edition of his pulp magazine column “Old Songs That Men Have Sung” calling it “a curious little song, particularly in its use of the short but effective line without rime at the end of each stanza.” Soon after, Gordon hauled his Edison cylinder recording machine from Berkeley, California to Akeley to record Phillips singing the song himself. Gordon remembered the song several years later when fellow song-catcher Joanna Colcord sent him another song collected in Vermont called “The Damsel’s Tragedy” with much the same form:

Indulgent parents dear I pray attend
To this relation hear which I have penned
A deeper tragedy
You never knew, for why?
A mother’s cruelty
Ruined her son.

Given that both songs can be traced to Vermont, “The Damsel’s Tragedy” may have been the template for “The Hunter’s Death.”

Phillips told Gordon that “The Hunter’s Death” was composed in northern New York around 1849 in the vicinity of Hopkinton where Phillips himself was born. It was based on an actual man, John Lomace, who lived in the area. Westfield, Vermont is about 100 miles east of Hopkinton on the other side of Lake Champlain. Both towns are quite near the “northern line” where one crosses into Canada.

Last month, I launched the Minnesota Folksong Challenge. This is your chance to get involved in reviving the folksong heritage of Minnesota! Learn a song from the Minnesota Folksong Collection and post a video on Youtube of yourself singing it. Send me the link and I’ll add you to the growing collection of videos here! St. Paul singer John Wenstrom took the Challenge and learned “The Hunter’s Death.” You can see John’s video at the Minnesota Folksong Collection site along with the new video of the Lost Forty doing our version of this song.

This activity is made possible by the voters of Minnesota through a grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board, thanks to a legislative appropriation from the arts and cultural heritage fund.