song - evergreentrad

10 Dec

Come All Ye Old Comrades

Come all ye old comrades, come now let us join,
And lend your sweet voices in chorus with mine,
We’ll drink and be merry, all sorrow refrain,
We may and may never all meet here again.

The time is fast approaching when I must away,
To leave my own country for many a long day,
To leave my old comrades so kind and so dear,
I to the Indies my course I must steer.

Fare thee well, I have a mother by the great powers above,
May she always be honored, respected and loved,
I will always respect her by land or by sea,
I’ll ever remember her kindness to me.

Fare thee well, I have a sweetheart whom I dearly love well,
There are none in this country who can her excel,
She smiles at my folly and she sits on my knee,
There’s few in this wide world as happy as we.

Adieu my old comrades, adieu and farewell,
Whether we’ll ever meet again there is no tongue can tell,
We will trust to his mercy who can sink or can save,
To bring me safe over yon proud stormy wave.

We have another song recorded in the Canadian Maritimes by Helen Creighton this month. Many readers will be familiar with Irish or Scottish versions of “Here’s a Health to the Company” aka “Kind Friends and Companions.” It is a well-loved song to close out a night of singing, complete with sing-along chorus.

The above variant, which has no chorus, comes from the singing of Catherine Marion Scott Gallagher (Mrs. Edward Gallagher in Creighton’s notes) who lived at the Chebucto Head lighthouse south east of Halifax, Nova Scotia and was recorded by Creighton in 1949. You can hear Gallagher sing “Come All Ye Old Comrades” on the Nova Scotia Archives website.

Creighton printed another Nova Scotia variant of the song in the book Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia but, as far as I can tell, the beautiful Gallagher version was not published until the release of this online archive. Gallagher’s phrasing on the recording is really nice and worth a listen for anyone interested in learning this one. The text and melody are also fairly unique from Irish/Scottish versions I am aware of. A great North American version of a favorite song!

02 Aug

When the Manistee Went Down

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.

31 Jul

Duluth in Eighty-Two

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.