Wisconsin - evergreentrad

01 Nov

Mickey Free

I’m from the town of Bangor
Down in the state of Maine,
A native American Irishman,
That spakes the English plain;
I landed in Stillwater town
In the year of fifty-three,
Me arm was strong, me heart was warm,
And me courage bould and free.

It’s on the Boom I sarved me time—
Wid corporation fare,
Plenty to eat sich as it was,
And something I had to wear;
And I’ve worked the Namekagon
In ould Schulenburg’s employ,
And on the Clam and Yellow rivers
For the valiant Bob Malloy.

And I’ve camped among the wigwams,
On Totogatic’s shore,
Where I held me own with Whalen,
Jim Crotty and George Moore;
And I worked wid Pease and Jackman
In the year of seventy-four,
And when ould Dan, he shelled the Pease,
I heard the cannons roar.

And on the Namekagon drive
With Tom Mackey I have been,
Where I fought the great Tom Haggerty—
While Bill Hanson stood between;
And I fought with big John Mealey—
And might have won the day,
If bould Jake Resser had been there
And seen I had fair play.

And I’ve been at stoppin’ places,
When travellin’ on my way,
Where gray backs big as June bugs
Were thick as flowers in May;
And I’ve been with ould man Greeley
Upon the St. Croix drive;
Where misketeys big as hummin’ birds—
Used to ate the min alive.

And I might have been a partner
With Ike Staples in the mill,
Or at least a boss for Louie
Or ould New Brunswick Bill;
But I’m always weak with wimmin—
Let them be wives or maids,
They may be fair and pretty
Or black as the ace of spades.

And they’ve broke me heart entirely—
Nary a cint’s forninst me name,
I may work for Dunn or Crotty
It’s always just the same,
But I’m thinkin’ to turn farmer
And forget me early days,
Take “homestead” up in Bashaw
Where I’m sure to mend me ways.

This song tells the story of St. Croix Valley timber cruiser Ed Hart (~1830-1900). Born in Windsor, Nova Scotia, Hart moved to Bangor, Maine as a young man before continuing to Stillwater, Minnesota where he became a cruiser (someone who surveyed timberlands for lumber companies). The song was written by William Young, a US government agent sent to the St. Croix in the 1870s to investigate illegal logging. Young befriended Hart, who took him along on his timber cruising trips where they traveled 30 miles a day on snowshoes and slept out under the stars in the middle of winter. Young was so impressed by his rugged friend that he composed this ballad based on Hart’s life.

The text above is taken word-for-word from James Taylor Dunn’s book The St. Croix: Midwest Border River complete with its many “Irish-American dialect” words (ould, misketeys, etc.) It is unclear what Dunn’s source was for the song though he says it “made its first known appearance at Taylors Falls early in 1878 and was widely repeated up and down the valley.” I also found proof of the song entering the oral tradition in the St. Croix. In an interview at the Minnesota Historical Society, Maggie Orr-O’Neill, whose father owned camps on the Wisconsin side of the Valley, remembered hearing local “red shirts” (river drivers) sing the verse about “mosquitoes big as hummingbirds.”

I sang a version of this song for my Minnesota Lumberjack Songs album where I skipped verse four and changed the end of verse six. (I sing: “The fair ones and the cruel ones with hearts as black as spades.”) The crass racial undertones at the end of verse six as printed by Dunn could have stemmed from songwriter Young’s discomfort with Ed Hart’s Ojibwe wife Me-dwe-a-shi-kwe. Hart and Me-dwe-a-shi-kwe married in 1871 and, as the last verse says, homesteaded in Bashaw, Wisconsin where they raised a family.

The Namekagan, Clam, Yellow and Totogatic are all rivers and streams in northwestern Wisconsin. Schulenburg, Bob Malloy, old man Greeley (Elam Greeley), Ike Staples (Isaac Staples), Louie (Louis Torinus) and New Brunswick Bill (William Chalmers) were a sort of who’s who of the mid-1800s logging industry in the St. Croix. “Dan he shelled the Pease” is a pun on a violent dispute between Dan E. Smith and the Pease and Jackman logging company in 1874. Graybacks are bedbugs.

I have been unable to find the original melody for this song and I have tried a few different options over the years. Above, I have married the text to a melody used by Newfoundland singer Mike Molloy for a popular north woods song called “My Good-Looking Man.”

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.

22 May

Lost Jimmie Whalen

Slowly and sadly I strayed by the river,
A-watching the sunbeams as evening drew nigh,
All alone as I rambled I spied a fair damsel,
She was weeping and wailing with many a sigh.

Sighing for one who is now lying lonely,
Mourning for one who no mortal can save,
As the dark foaming waters flow sadly around her,
As onward they roll o’er young Jimmie’s grave.

“Jimmie,” said she, “won’t you come to my arms,
And give me sweet kisses as oft times you gave?
You promised you’d meet me this evening my darling,
O come dearest Jimmie, love, come from the grave!”

Slowly there rose from the depths of the river,
A vision of beauty far fairer than sun,
While red robes of crimson encircled around him,
Unto this fair maiden to speak he’s begun.

“Why did you rise me from the realms of glory,
Back to this place where I once had to leave?
To clasp you once more in my fond loving arms?
To see you once more I have come from my grave.”

“Jimmie” said she, “why not stay on earth with me,
Don’t leave me here for to weep and to rave,
But if you won’t mind me and bide here beside me,
Oh Jimmy take me to your cold silent grave.”

“Darling to me you are asking a favor
That no earthy mortal can grant unto thee.
For death is the dagger that holds us asunder,
And wide is the gulf, love, between you and me.”

“One fond embrace, love, and then I must leave you
One loving kiss, pet, and then we must part.”
And cold were the arms he encircled around her,
While cold was the bosom she pressed to her heart.

Then straightway the vision did vanish before her,
Straightway to the sky he then seemed to go,
Leaving his loved one distracted and lonely,
Weeping and wailing in sadness and woe.

Throwing herself on the banks of the river,
Weeping and wailing her poor heart would break,
Sighing “My loved one, my lost Jimmie Whalen,
I will lie down and die by the side of your grave.”

Norah Rendell and I have been singing this beautiful song for several years but somehow it has never made it onto Northwoods Songs!

It is one of two songs that commemorate the tragic drowning of a raftsman named James Phalen around 1878 in Ontario. Collector Franz Rickaby, who prints both songs in his book Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy, corresponded with multiple informants who knew the details of the Phalen drowning. It happened at King’s Chute on Ontario’s Mississippi River–a tributary of the Ottawa where the rafting crew was working for a boss named Peter McLaren who went on to be a senator. Phalen and two others were attempting to break a log jam at the “Upper Falls” section of the Chute. Phalen fell in and was swept under the logs.

Rickaby’s informants told him that the other popular “Whalen” song, “Jim Whalen,” was definitely based on the Phalen tragedy (apparently the name was pronounced “Whalen” in that part of Ontario). They said it was written and sung “with much pathos” by a local songsmith in Lanark, Ontario named John Smith.

Rickaby was not certain that the ghost-visiting narrative of “Lost Jimmie Whalen” referred to the same drowning victim as the more journalistic “Jim Whalen.” Rickaby collected only a three verse fragment “Lost Jimmie Whalen” from Will Daugherty of Charlevoix, Michigan in 1919. A version collected in the 1950s in Ontario from Martin Sullivan by Edith Fowke clearly makes the Phalen connection by including an additional verse:

“Hard, hard were the struggles on the cruel Mississippi,
But encircled around her on every side,
Thinking of you as we conquered them bravely,
I was hoping some day for to make you my bride.”

The above-transcribed melody comes from yet another Great Lakes region singer named Robert Walker who lived in Crandon, Wisconsin (Walker’s version appears on this wonderful Folkways album). Walker’s melody, a relative of the one frequently used for “Lass of Glenshee,” is similar to that used by Sullivan but I prefer the way Walker sings the opening bar. The text above is primarily from Walker with a few lines borrowed from the Daugherty and Sullivan versions and a couple changed of my own in the sixth stanza.