Down to the Shore

Down to the Shore 1991

This was made when CDs were a new idea. Listening to it now makes my ears bleed, hence the discounted price.
We have recorded newer versions of most of these songs on The Ballad of Cappy John and Song of the Sea. The sound samples here are full length tracks.

SHANTYMAN'S HAIL 3:30
© 1984 Fred Gosbee

This is a thumbnail sketch of the ups and downs of the maritime industry. This song was used in the Turner Broadcasting Company's series Portrait of America for the 60-minute Maine episode.

At Bath down in Maine they built many tall ships
They were faired up and planked, then launched down the slips
The strength of our nation was built on the pine
Of the mast-trees that harnessed the wind
There were schooners and sloops and all kinds of small craft
Warships with cannon both foreward and aft
And the queens of the seas, the graceful clippers
Mighty proud men were there skippers

Then the steam-powered ships came along
Their engines replaced the shanteyman's song
And men in the hellish heat down in the hold
Spent their watches shoveling coal
First coal, then oil, then nuclear heat
Replaced all the wind-driven ships in the fleet
And skills handed down for hundreds of years
Have all but disappeared

And where went the tall ships that once sailed so free
Under clouds of white canvas across the salt sea
With the wind in their rigging and foam at the bow
Tell me, where are they now?
Well some were scrapped and some can be found
Like the Luther and the Hesper, up the Sheepscot aground
Some were towed out to deep water and sunk
Regarded as no more than junk

We can't live forever on fuel from the ground
The prices go up and no more will be found
If we're still around for the next age of sail
We might hear that shanteyman hail

RAMONA 5:10
© 1991 Fred Gosbee

I got this story from James E. Stilphen of Bath, Maine, who paints ships portraits and is deeply imbued with local maritime history. While he knew the story and location of the ship, he couldn't remember her name so I used "Ramona" for the chorus until I could find her real name. In the spring of 1991, after I had made the song we took a day and went to Five Islands and found her. She is the 240 foot 5-masted schooner "Mary F. Barret", run aground in 1929 by one Levi Topman. There is indeed a house there made from some of her timbers. She has a pretty big hole in one side and at half-tide you can go inside the hull with a Boston Whaler

MARK MCNEIL: Cello

The wind in her rigging sings a song of other days
Though her masts are sprung and there's slack in all her stays
I close my eyes and I remember how it used to be
When me and my Ramona went to sea

We started hauling lumber, ended hauling coal
I was twenty years her master and I loved her heart and soul
So many times she saved us from the fury of the storm
After all these years my memories are warm

I recall how on our last trip when we'd emptied out the hold
The owners came down to me, said Ramona had been sold
They sold her to a scrapper 'cause they couldn't make her pay
I had to get my gear and go away

I couldn't leave here there after all she'd done for me
So I gathered my life-savings and I paid Ramona's fee
Took her up the river and beached her in the sand
Then built this little cabin close at hand

It's been thirty years now since we come aground
Still I walk her weathered deck and think I hear the sound
Of a living tops'l schooner as she runs before the wind
Oh, Ramona, we're still sailing in my mind

The Fishwidow's Song 3:33
© 1990 Julia Lane

Hardy are the women whose men must go to sea. Theirs is a life of balancing practicality and profound faith

Time is passing away with the tide
I should be keeping the score
Roll away time, roll away tide
I don't care any more
The wind is blowing in the clouds
Bringing a storm on it's wings
Red sky at morning, Sailor take warning
I can't fear what it brings

As I watch you come down the bay
I know our time won't be long
One night of sharing, one day of caring
Another verse in our song

The Fisherman's Life 2:35
© 1984 Julia Lane

Julia wrote this for an old lobsterman, "Tinker", who has since passed away. It is indicative of the attitude of many of the fisherman who would rather fish than anything else.

Well it's up in the morning and stumble downstairs
Have a cup of good coffee to drive chills away
Than it's on with my boots and I'm down to the dock
And by sunrise I'm down the bay

Well I have tried working at many a thing
I forgot how to live, I forgot how to sing
I longed for the feel of the sea 'neath my feet
Even though it's not regular pay

My father before me has worked on the sea
And he's passed his experience down to me
I learnt to set traps, and I learnt how to wait
And I learnt what not to say

Someday I'll get old and my legs'll be sore
And they'll tell me I can't go out fishing no more
But I'll smile as my boat turns away from the dock
And I'll sing as I go down the bay

On the Bay 3:08
© 1984 Mark McNeil

A song of the connection many feel for the sea and shore

Well I long for the shoreline I once called my home
And the fires dancing brighter than all the stars that show
All the travelers directions ' the light to guide their way
Back to wind and sand and water and the good life on the bay
There the tunes are softly playing to the rhythm of the tide
Seagulls hang on the horizon, and God is at my side
God is at my side
All the majesty and meekness I see painted on the land
Is a portrait of the Father's promised paradise for man.
As I walk the darkened beaches; hear the calling of the sea
It strikes me not too strange at all this all is meant for me
This all is meant for me.

The Ballad of Cappy John 3:48
© 1991 Fred Gosbee

This started out as a joke but as time has gone on I have found that truth is stranger than fiction. Several daughters and wives of old fishermen have told me "... you know my man would NEVER go out in a fog if he had a cold. Couldn't smell the ledges!" The rockweed that grows on our Maine ledges does have a distinctive odor, so I guess the joke is on me.

The "Mary L. MacKay" is actually the "Effie Morrissey " which sailed from Portland, Maine, to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, (a distance of 220 nautical miles) in eighteen hours back in December, 1913. There is a rousing song about the passage with words written by Frederick William Wallace and published in the Canadian Fisherman magazine in 1914. Portland rum figures heavily in the account.

The schooner went on to become famous for numerous expeditions to the arctic. She still sails today under the name "Bowdoin"

Come all of you brave schooner boys who sail the coast of Maine
Listen to my story and join in the refrain
It's all about a skipper, the best we ever knew
He sailed a stout 4-master with a tough and jolly crew
Many a tale that I could tell you never would believe
Like coming into Pemaquid on a stiff Sou'east'ly breeze
To sail with him the Thread of Life took the courage of a saint
For he'd take the barnacles off her hull but he never touched the paint

The tale that I will tell you of began in the usual way
Going to Yarmouth town we passed the Mary L. McKay
We left our cargo on the dock and then stood out for sea
And we met her staggering into port like a drunkard on a spree
Things was fine we was making time on a wind from the Nor'east
When Cappy John says 'Gorry boys, I don't like this in the least
I can tell by the sky and the look of the foam that when the sun goes down
We're gonna be in for a Heluva fog or I ain't Cappy John'

We'd been with Cappy in fog before so we weren't worried none
We figgered we'd make Portland by the rising of the sun
So we stood our watches with hearts as light as swallows in the spring
We didn't know Cappy had caught a cold and he couldn't smell a thing
And Cappy he didn't let on none, why God only knows
Maybe he figgered to steer by sound and wouldn't need his nose
And he didn't tell us to shorten sail though we might have heard him sneeze
Then we plowed right into that bank of fog like a maggot into a cheese

Then Cappy hollered 'Look sharp, boys, I fear we're close to land'
But that fog it was so goldurn thick you couldn't see your hand
And the ship was sailing very queer, up great rough seas and down
We heard strange sounds like moaning groans of sailers who'd been drowned
When the sun came up, 'twas off our stern 'stead of the larboard side
Then, Mister Man, we came to know we'd been on a Heluva ride
For we stood in a field five miles from shore - captain, ship and crew
He lost his way 'cause he couldn't smell but he brought us in on the dew!

Clamdigger 3:06
© 1991 Fred Gosbee

This chant is for all those folks who larbor harder and live on less than most of us can imagine is possible. It's a tough life and sometimes the only thing that keeps these people going is the pride of hard work.

You think that diggers have a life of ease
You think they come and go just as they please
In the air and in the sun
A peck or two and then they're done

See that old clamdigger in the mud
I guess that digging just gets in your blood
As long as he has kids to feed
His boots and hoe are all he needs

A digger sets his timepiece by the tide
Goes down to the shore when flats are wide
Bends his back and pulls his hoe
Digs as fast as he can go

In wintertime it's cold but still we go
Out on the flats although it's ten below
That onshore breeze is awful chill
If diggin' don't get you the frostbite will

In summertime the diggin' days are long
You get two tides a day if you are strong
Then when you think you're getting ahead
The state man says the tide is red

Red tide means that you can't sell your clams
Means you have to scuttle all your plans
Feed the kids; put off the rent
You have to scrape for every cent

In a restaurant or in your home
Now that you have listened to my song
When you sit and eat your clams
Just remember who I am

Estuaries have a unique position in the ecosystem, being both havens and meeting places, mixing the life of land and sea.

Born in the hills beneath the grasses green
Deep in the ledge so cool and clear and clean
Spilling from the rockface, shining in the sun
Continuing a cycle begun when Earth was young

Down pour the rains to swell the rippling flood
Down through the hills carrying Earth's lifeblood
Feeding field and forest that line the winding shore
Flowing through the ages; a source of life and more

Joining at last the ocean's wide embrace
Safe in her arms the river slow's it's pace
High up in the heavens the moon so clear and bright
Celebrates the reunion and the waters share her light

Although seafaring folk have a great love for the ocean and the work that keeps them going, the restlessness can take its toll.

The shantyman's song sends the strength raining down
To pump and to stamp and to haul
He's fueled us to southward and then the Cape 'round
Timbers straining ahead of his call

Take heart that the lines are secure on the cleat
To the hawsepipe the anchor withdrawn
The sails are unfurled down to the last sheet
To make coastal waters by dawn

Don't linger too long out of sight of the land
Soft breezes turn quickly to gale
We'll put into port, embrace each grain of sand
And be done with the capstan and sail

It was years after I had written this song before I heard the double chorus the way I had imagined it in my mind's ear. We were touring Maryland and had a wonderful audience in St Marys City that really sang it well

A sailor's life is dreary far from home
He's often wet and weary out on the salty foam
He is gone for a year, often times more
Hoping that his deary's waitin' for him

Do you want a trip to China? Well, sign on board
Or down under to Australia, pick up a load of wool
Trade for tea in India then bear for home
Hoist the sail, haul the anchor, head for harbor

It isn't very funny when your pay is counted down
There's not a lot of money for the time that you've been gone
So you hug and kiss your honey and hold her while you can
Till the captain says "We're leaving in the morning"

Some men love adventure and some love the sea
Some only love whisky and some love being free
But the only love I need is the love of my lady
Blow ye winds, run ye tides back to harbor