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

  He had one eye on the waves, the other on the weather
  He saw more with his swivel eye than all of us together
  He could find his way on a moonless night dark as dungeon cell
  And when the fog was thick as soup, he'd navigate by smell

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'

CHORUS

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

CHORUS

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!

CHORUS

High on a hill overlooking the bay
A lovely old house stands alone
Acres and acres of forest and field
Bordered by walls made of stone
Northern lights dance all across the night sky
Glowing with millions of stars
Waterfalls run and apple trees bloom 
At the house on the hill in my heart

Someone admired the place where it stands
This hill overlooking the sea
And timber by timber with strong loving hands
A beautiful home came to be
Fires for warming the body and soul 
Smoldered at night on the hearth
Waterfalls ran and apple trees bloomed 
At the house on the hill in my heart

The barn is now gone and the fields are unmowed 
The people are all gone away
And season on season of sunlight and snow 
Have weathered the clapboards to gray
Talk in the town is of tearing it down, 
Dividing the hillside apart
But waterfalls run and apple trees bloom 
At the house on the hill in my heart

1607 Ballad of the Popham Colony © 2007 Fred Gosbee, Castlebay Music

James VI of Scotland became James I of England in 1603. He encouraged expeditions to establish settlements in Virginia, as the English then called North America. In 1607 two colonies were begun, Jamestown in Virginia and Popham in Maine. The northern expedition was undertaken by the Plymouth Company, financed by John Popham, then in his eighties, and led by his son, George, who was in his sixties. Raleigh Gilbert, at twenty three, was second in command.

Since much of the forest in Great Britain and Ireland had been cut, the Plymouth Company wanted to publicise the wealth of timber in New England. They brought with them a London shipwright, Digby, who laid the keel for the Virginia four days after the expedition landed. During the winter of 1607-08 Digby and about forty five men built the thirty ton pinnace. The Virginia is recorded as the first European ship to be built in North America. She crossed the Atlantic at least twice. She eventually sailed to Jamestown where she was used as a fishing boat.

While Jamestown had a mortality rate approaching 90% there were only two fatalities in Popham. One was George Popham and the mantle of leadership fell on young Gilbert. After spending the winter on the frozen coast of Maine and provoking the local natives to hostility they were no doubt relieved to see their supply ship arrive the next summer. With the news that not only their patron, the well-connected John Popham had died, but also Raleigh's elder brother, John, their fort was torched to keep it from falling into French hands and Raleigh Gilbert sailed home to claim his inheritance.

The site of the Popham Colony was lost until 1994. There was extensive archaology done there over the course of fifteen years. Among the finds was a crystal beaded cartouch which is visible in a portrait of Raleigh Gilbert done before the Popham adventure.

The guitar used on this track is a 10-string baroque guitar I built in 2005 with way too much inlay, tied-on frets and a wedding cake rosette.

 
When King James wore the English crown
Two ships sailed forth from Plymouth town.
The Gift of God and Mary & John 
To Virginia made their way.
George Popham was the leader then
And with him there went six-score men
To build a fort on the northern strand 
And for the winter stay.

Using tools of the proper sort
They built a house and a sturdy fort
Their brave adventure to support  
And a colony to begin.
Then Raleigh Gilbert looked, it seemed,
Up every river, brook and stream  
The Northwest Passage was the dream  
Would all their fortunes win.

And as they viewed the woods around
The oaks and pine there did abound
The like of which had not been found 
In England for many a year.
There was among those hardy wights
One shipwright, Digby he was hight.
He  laid a keel by the water bright 
To build a pinnace there.

As autumn's days began to wane
Their two ships sailed back home again,
Leaving forty-five brave men 
There by the ocean side.
Scarce one month or two was past
Before the winter's icy blast
Brought great hardship, cold and frost. 
Twas then George Popham died.

The colonists were in great need
When young Gilbert took the lead;
Strong of will and rash of deed, 
And whether 'twas right or wrong,
With haughty mien he sent his men
To fight the local Indians
For food and firewood ran out then 
As winter lingered long

Yet doughty Digby labored on
The beams were hewed and planks were sawn. 
The pinnace frame was raised anon, 
A ship of thirty tuns.
The hull was fit, the seams were caulked,
The mast was set, spars rigged aloft.
The sails were bent when she was launched; 
Virginia was done!

But they had barely rigged the clews
When  a ship  came there and brought sad news
John Popham had died; John Gilbert, too, 
But Raleigh was his heir.
So Fort St. George was burnƩd down
For fear by France it might be found.
To Compton Castle was Gilbert bound, 
To friends and family there.

Two ships the North Atlantic crossed.
The Popham colony was lost. 
The Plymouth Company bore the cost 
But all was not in vain.
Virginia also made the trip,
The first of many wooden ships
Crafted and launched down the slips 
All on the coast of Maine.

1627 Thomas Morton's Maypole Songe

Thomas Morton was born in Devon, England, about 1578. Devon remained Anglican during the rising prominance of Protestantism and also was an area where many of the old customs were observed. When Morton studied the law in London he was exposed to Renassaince and libertine ideas.

He entered the service of Fernando Georges, a prominant colonial entrepeneur and in 1618 became Georges's overseer for his properties in New England. Morton first voyaged to Plymouth (Massachusetts) in 1622 but was back in London in 1623, complaining about the intolerance of the Puritan settlements. He returned to New England in 1624 as a senior partner in a trading scheme with Captain Wollaston.

The partners established a trading post at Merrymount, now part of Quincey, and began a thriving trade with the local Algonquins. Morton admired their culture and by all accounts, treated them fairly in his dealings. When Morton discovered that Wollaston was selling the induntured men who had come with them, virtually as slaves, to Jamestown. Morton led them in a revolt against the captain, who fled to Jamestown, leaving Morton in charge of the community. He set out to integrate his settlers with the local tribe and to establish his own utopian colony, based on his Anglican and libertine ideals, much to the disgust of his Puritan neighbors, who described the residents of Merrymount as worthless idlers who spent their days in debauchery. Merrymount was the fastest growing community in New England with a thriving and agricultural and fur trade, so it would appear that econimic as well as religious factors were leading toward a confrontation. Morton erected a Maypole in 1627, much to the disgust of his Puriton neighbors.

In 1628 Morton erected an even bigger Maypole - eighty feet tall and topped with deer antlers. This was too much for the Plymouth community. The militia, led by Myles Standish, marched on Merrymount, cut down the Maypole, arrested Morton, and marooned him on the Isle of Shoals. Eventually he made it back to England. When he returned to Merrymount in 1629 he found that Plymouth has raided the plentiful supplies there during the winter, and the community had been scattered. Morton was arrested a second time and banished from the colony. The following year the Puritan colonists burned Merrymount to the ground.

He barely survived this second ordeal but by 1631, when he had regained his health, he brought suit against the Massachusetts Bay Company and succeeded in getting their charter revoked. In 1637 Morton published New English Canaan. In these three books he described the bountiful recources of New England, praised the native culture and denounced the Puritan of Massachusetts. His descriptions of the Plymouth colony are the basis of the popular view of the Puritans that exists to this day.

Morton fled the English Civil War in 1642, returning to Plymouth where he was arrested yet again. He was imprisoned while evidence was sought to try him for sedition as a royalist agitator . He spent the winter in prison, no evidence was forthcoming and as his health failed he was granted clemency. He came finally to Maine, where he spent his remaining days amidst planters from his beloved West Country. Thomas Morton died in 1647 at the age of 71.

The text for this song was published by Morton in New English Canaan. The melody, Staines Morris, was popular in the early 17th century.

Drinke and be merry, merry, merry boyes,
Let all your delight be in Hymens joyes,
Io to Hymen now the day is come,
About the merry Maypole take a Roome.

    Make greene garlands, bring bottles out;
    And fill sweet Nectar, freely about,
    Uncover thy head, and feare no harm,
    For hers good liquor to keepe it warme.

    Nectar is a thing assign'd,
    By the Deities owne minde,
    To cure the hart opprest with grief,
    And of good liquors is the chief,

    Give to the Mellancolly man,
    A cup or two of't now and than;
    This physick' will soone revive his bloud,
    And make him be of a merrier mood.

    Give to the Nymphe thats free from scorne,
    No Irish; stuff nor Scotch over worn,
    Lasses in beaver coats come away,
    Ye shall be welcome to us night and day.

1628 Morton's Return © James V. Ryan

The Merrymount incident influenced the cultural fabric of New England for centuries. Nathanial Hawthorn included his short story The Maypole of Merrymount in his book Twice Told Tales published in 1837. The poet Robert Lowell adapted this story into his play, The Old Glory in 1964.

While the Merrymount maypole of 1627 is usually thought to be the first in New England there is documentation of a maypole on Damariscove Island in 1622

Thomas Weston, a British merchant, in early 1622 sent from London seven passengers and some letters in his fishing ship, Sparrow, headed for the Plymouth Colony, founded just two years earlier. The Sparrow made landfall too far north, in the spring of 1622, at Damariscove Island ("wanting a pilot"). Phinehas Pratt, a member of the Sparrow's crew, related the story of the lively Damariscove fishermen in May of 1622, in his own words and seventeenth-century spelling: "The men yt belong to ye ship, ther fishing, had newly set up a may pole and weare very mery."

- Chip Griffin

I'll tarry no longer, to Merrymount I will go
I'll drink whene're I want to and dance around the pole
While women will attend me in the company of friends.
Tell 'em old Tommy Morton's come to Merrymount again

I first came to these shores my fortune to find
In the company of Wollaston and others so inclined.
But cruelly he deserted us. Bereft and all alone 
In a strange and savage country we made Merrymount our home

Quite soon we were befriended by a host of Algonquin.
They could hunt and trap and fish, but they were not businessmen
Yet we treated them most squarley in all matters of our trade.
Sure as night follows day, it seemed our fortunes were made.

To celebrate our fortune a Maypole we did raise
And with our native brothers we danced and sang God's praise
And with our native sisters we often did lie down
'Till the laughter of our revels was heard in Plymouth town.

Soon word came back from Plymouth that a company of men
Was marching down to Merrymount our rowdiness to end.
We passed a jug among us for to fight them was our plan
But when they got up to Merrymount we were to drunk to stand.

They clapped me into irons and sent me out to sea
In a ship that sailed for England; heavy charges laid on me.
But no jury would convict me - they freed me from my chains
And I vowed that I would soon return to Merrymount again.

So we land in the morning. We'll come in with the tide.
For my beloved Merrymount I'd cross the whole world wide.
It seems what I call pleasure other men mistake for vice
And what others call New England to me is Paradise.

1643 New England Annoyances by Edward Johnson (?)
tune: Derry Down

In his book New England Annoyances - America's First Folk Song, Leo Lemay identifies Edward Johnson as the probable author of the text and 1643 as the probable date. He also evaluates the oldest published versions (1758, 1774, 1791) to reconstruct a plausible original. With verses that are at times realistic, exaggerated, humourous and serious, this song describes some of the hardships faced by the Puritons in the early years of the settlements in Massachussets. Yet despite the litany of complaints the song concludes with the advice "forsake not the honey for fear of the sting".

This song is emblematic of the New England character which has persisted to the present day, especially in the northern regions.

New England's Annoyances, if you would know them
Just ponder these verses that quickly will show them.
The place where we live is a wilderness wood,
Where grass is much wanting that's fruitful and good.
Derry down, down, down derry down

From the end of November till three months are gone,
The ground is all frozen as hard as a stone,
Our mountains and hills and valleys below
Are commonly covered with ice and with snow.

And when the north-wester with violence blows,
Then every man pulls his cap over his nose;
But if any's so hardy and would it withstand,
He forfeits a finger, a foot, or a hand.

Our clothes we brought with us are apt to be torn,
They need to be mended before they are worn.
But wearing patched clothing, it troubles us nothing.
Double patches are warmer than single whole clothing!

When the ground opens we then take the hoe,
And make the ground ready to plant and to sow;
Our corn being planted and seed being sown,
The worms destroy much before it is grown.

While it is growing much spoil there is made,
By birds and by squirrels that pluck up the blade;
Even when it is grown to full corn in the ear,
Much spoil there is made by the racoon, and deer.

If flesh meat be wanting to fill up our dish,
We have pumpkins and turnips as much as we wish;
And when we have a mind for a delicate dish,
We repair to the clam banks, and there we catch fish.

For pottage and porridge and pudding and pies,
Our pumpkins and parsnips are common supplies;
We have pumpkin at morning and pumpkin at noon;
If it was not for pumpkins we should be undone.

Now while some are going let others be coming,
For while liquor's boiling it must have a scumming;
But I will not blame them, for birds of a feather,
By seeking their fellows, are flocking together.

But you whom the Lord intends hither to bring,
Forsake not the honey for fear of the sting;
But bring both a quiet and contented mind,
And all needful blessings you surely will find.

1673 John Earthy's Tavern © Fred Gosbee 2011
tune: Larry O'Gaff

John Earthy kept a tavern in Pemaquid from sometime prior to 1673 until 1675. At that time Pemaquid was an economic rather than a military outpost; political and ecomonic decisions were made by local community leaders. From his letters we know that John Earthy was trying to avert hostilities in Maine during the early months of King Phillip's War. He was successful for a while.

Subsequent to that war the five tribes in Acadia formed the Wabanaki Alliance, based in northern New England, to stop the expansion of the English colonies. From this base near their French allies in Canada, they conducted fought the five "French and Indian Wars" between 1689 and 1763. During this time European settlements in Maine were often abandoned. Pemaquid therefore has three settlement dates: circa 1608, 1692, and 1729.

A colonial tavern was the heart of the community (if not the soul). It was a place for social and official gatherings, a way stop for travelers, depot for mail delivery and in the very early days a trading post as well.

Whenever I'm weary and tired to the bone
From grubbing out stumps and digging out stones
There's one place I know will my spirit restore
That's John Earthy's tavern on the Pemaquid shore

There's all kind of people that you will find there
Released for moment from worry and care
From field and from forest and ocean they come
for some John Barleycorn or some kill-devil rum

In the short days of winter the evenings are long
For a pipe and a glass with a story or song
If a trav'ler stops in for a meal and some beer
He leaves as a friend - there are no strangers here

There's only one thing that we lack and we miss
That's a bonnie young wench for to hug and to kiss
For sooth in the settlement women are few
So lacking a young wench an old one will do

There are some in the village who think it's a sin
That we  have no church for to worship God in
But there's one place I know will my spirit restore
John Earthy's Tavern by the Pemaquid shore.

1737 The Escape of Old John Webb

I'll attempt to untangle the history of this song. In Colonial Massachusetts paper money, the Old Tenor, was printed starting in 1690. This was the first paper currency in the Western World. (The Chinese had paper money as early as 970AD. The first U.S. paper money was printed in 1862) When it was first issued the Old Tenor was equivalent in value to specie, but by the 1730's there was so much paper money in circulation that it the value had dropped to to about 25% of its face value. In 1737 the Commonwealth tried to revalue paper currency by issuing the "New Tenor", which was legislated to have a value three times that of the Old Tenor. The issuance of the New Tenor was unpopular, and in 1742 with the issuance of a "new" new tenor confusion about the value of currency was rampant. While the legislature had an official version, in practice the merchants continued to conduct commerce in terms of "Old Tenor" even when the amount of Old Tenor in circulation was greatly reduced.

John Webb (or Webber) was a mintmaster in Salem who continued to print the Old Tenor after the New Tenor had been issued, thus technically becoming a counterfietor. He was jailed and may have been released by a mob or may have been released in the due course of time, accounts vary. In any case the Old Tenor and the predicament of John Webb became a cause celebrƩ in New England and the old Scottish ballad, Archie O Cawfield, was reworked to make a song about the incident. In the following verses excerpted from Child #188B the ideas and phrases that are included in The Escape of Old John Webb are obvious. (The original ballad numbers some 30-45 verses, depending on the version)

'There['s] six of us will hold the horse,       	 
And other five watchmen will be;
But who is the man among you a'
Will go to the Tolbooth door wi me?'
 
'Be o good cheer now, Archie lad,	
Be o good cheer now, dear billie;
Work thow within and I without,
And the morn thou's dine at Cafield wi me.'

'O work, O work, Archie?' he cries,
'O work, O work? ther's na working for me;
For ther's fifteen stane o Spanish iron,
And it lys fow sair on my body.'

O Jokie Hall stept to the door,
And he bended it back upon his knee,
And he made the bolts that the door hang on
Jump to the wa right wantonlie.

He took the prisoner on his back,
And down the Tollbooth stairs came he;
Out then spak Dickie and said,
Let some o the weight fa on me;

'O shame a ma!' co Jokie Ha,
'For he's no the weight of a poor flee.'
'Lo yonder comes Liewtenant Gordon
And a hundred men in his company:'

O there was horsing, horsing in haste,
And there was marching upon the lee,
Untill they came to Annan side,
And it was flowing like the sea.

Now they did swim that wan water,
And O but they swam bonilie!
Untill they came to the other side,
And they wrang their cloathes right drunk[i]lie.
 
'Come through, come through, Lieutenant Gordon!
Come through, and drink some wine wi me!
For ther's a ale-house neer hard by,
And it shall not cost thee one penny.'

'Throw me my irons, Dickie!' he cries,
'For I wat they cost me right dear;'
'O shame a ma!' cries Jokie Ha,
'For they'll be good shoon to my gray mare.'

Several versions of The Escape of Old John Webb were collected in the 1920s in and around Mt Desert, Maine by Fannie Hardie Eckstorm. One of the informants, Mrs. Thornton of Southwest Harbor, got it from her great-grandmother who came to the area from Byfield, Massachusetts, in 1800.

There were nine to watch the British rank and five to watch the town above
And one to stand at either hand and one to let the Old Tenor out.
He had eighty-weight of Spanish iron between his neck-bone and his knee
But Billie took Johnny up under his arm and carried him out right manfully

And Billie broke locks and Billie broke bolts
And Billie broke all that he came nigh
Until he came to the dungeon door
And that he broke right manfully

He stole them a horse and away they rode and who but they rode gallently
Until them came to the river bank, to the river running wild and free
The British were coming close on their heels and who but they stood fearfully
'Till Billie took Johnny up on his back and carried him over it easily.

"Oh Billie, bold Billie", the sheriff he cried, "You're the damnedest rascall I ever did see.
"Come give me back the irons you stole and I will set your prisoner free."
"Oh no, oh no", bold Billie he cried, "Oh no, oh no that cannot be.
"The iron will do our horses to shoe, for the blacksmith rides in our company.

And when they come to the other side who but they stood shiveringly
Until they came unto an inn where they called for ale most cheerfully.
And then they called for a room to dance and who but they danced gallently?
And the very best dancer amongst them all was old John Webb who was just set free!

Songs from the Grand Design

Two of the survivors, Alexander Campbell and William Lunnon, wrote a letter of complaint against Captain Matthew Rowan. The text of this song closely follows the contents of that letter.

In seventeen hundred and forty one we left old Ireland
Bound for Philadelphia in America's happy land
But cruel winds destroyed our masts on the stormy passage o'er
And it was late October before we sighted shore

Our ship it being foundered on the bleak and rocky land
The captain bade us man the boats to take us to the strand
With comrades friends and family all scattered here and there
No shelter was provided us, no sustenance nor fare

He then sailed in the longboat some comfort for to find
The length of time that he was gone weighed heavy on our minds
As cold and deprivation began to take their toll
And many of our companions went to their final home

At length the captain and his crew returned with vessels two
And how our hearts did lighten as these ships came into view
But how our hopes were shattered when we came to know his mind 
Was to take our goods from off the ship and leave us all behind

He finally was persuaded to render us some aid
For forty-eight convenient and with money for to pay
He stripped us of our clothing, all our goods, and all our gear
Then sold us into service thus advancing his career

A curse upon the captain, oh may he die in pain!
For never did he spare a thought for those who did remain
No pity for the victims of his cold and ruthless plan
He left them all to perish on the shores of Grand Manan.

Isabel Asbel Galloway is one of the principle characters in The Grand Design. Whilst her husband, Jack, and most of the other men did not survive on the island, Isabel, her baby Robert, and about eight other women survived the winter. They were discovered by Passamaquoddy Indians in the spring, who paddled over 120 miles to notify the settlers in Pemaquid and St George (now Warren, Maine) of their prediciment. We have no record that Archibald Gamble actually participated in the rescue; we do know that he wed Isabel in 1742 and they were married 38 years before his death. From the records of his military and civic service, we can deduce that he was the kind of man that would have gone on the voyage.

Archibald came from the north of Ireland about 1728. He resided in Pemaquid then in 1736 became one of the first settlers of the Upper Town of St. George's. He served in the military in 1749 and stayed in the fort at St. George during the 5th Indian war. In 1754 in stayed in the fort blockhouse during the 6th Indian War, then in 1755 was a ranger scout from June 19 - November 20. He died in 1779 in Warren, Maine while hauling hay across the river on the ice, broke through, and was drowned, near what has since been called Gamble's rock. He was buried in 1779 in the Old Settlers Cemetery in Warren, Maine.

It was early one evening in the spring of the year
That a strange looking vessel on our shores did appear
With red men from the forests, and though they were few
We were most apprehensive of what they might do

They hailed us most proudly, and held up their hands
And producing as letter, gave us to understand
That marooned on an island there were women in need
And that we should travel there with the greatest of speed

We hastily gathered a crew, strong and brave
For to make the long journey across the salt waves
We fared to the east'ard for many a long mile
Till the Indians did guide us to a desolate Isle

And there on the rocky shore, both hungry and cold
Were the women of Ireland as the letter had told
And one with an infant just barely alive
We were filled with amazement that they had survived

For it seems they had suffered the whole winter through
Abandoned by the captain of a ship and his crew
In favor of the cargo and the goods they had brought
He ruthlessly sailed away and left them with naught

And so we did tenderly help them on board
And carried them back to our home in St.George
With great thanks to the Indians so gallant and strong.
Here's a health to their families and may they live long.

There was one of these ladies who soon caught my eye
She was fair, sweet and handsome, that none can deny
Our love it did blossom as her health it did grow
And I married my dear Isabel before the next snow.

1753 Promised Land words © 2003 Geordie McIntyre
tune: trad- Tae Pad the Road Wi' Me Used by Permission

Samual Waldo was just one of several colonial land barons of the 18th century. He issued printed circulars inviting emigrants to settle upon his lands on the great River St Georges in the province of Massachusetts Bay in the colony of New England. These lands he described as being fifty leagues northeast of Boston in the latitude of 43°40' north in what is now Waldo County.

Waldo represented the "climate to be as wholesome and safe for British constitutions as any part of South or North Britain; that there was commonly hard frost and snow for about three months every winter during which the sky was so serene that the weather was never prejudicial to health; that the soil was as fertile as most lands in South or North Britain, being commonly black mould with a bottom of blue or yellow clay; that the ground was capable of producing plenty of Indian corn, Wheat, Rye, Barley, Oats , Beans, Peas, Hemp, Flax and Roots of all kinds, and of raising black-cattle, Swine, and Sheep; that besides summer feeding in the woods, natural meadows abounded and the whole summer season being commonly fair, great provision of hay might be made early and secured with small expense; that the timber consisted of Oak, Beech, Maple, Elm, Birch, and all kinds of Fir or Pine, all of which were in such demand at Boston as to pay for clearing the lands, and well adapted for making pot and pearl ashes; that the waters abounded in cod, haddock, salmon, sturgeon, mackerel, eels, smelts, bass, shad, oysters and lobsters; that there was fine opportunity of hunting; wildfowl, moordeer and beaver being abundant."

These offers attracted the attention of about sixty persons in Stirling, Glasgow, and other places in Scotland, who entered into an agreement to emigrate. They were for the most part mechanics, and unacquainted with all agricultural operations, except reaping and threshing. Having the promise of lands within two miles of tide waters, they naturally looked forward to the comforts of city life to which they had been accustomed at home. Fearful of Indian hostilities, and unaquainted as they were with the wild beasts that frequented the woods, they could not think of fixing their habitations at a distance from each other. Accordingly when the spring opened they went out to the place assigned them for a new city and took possession of their half acre lots, on which they erected small log huts. To this embryo city they gave the name of Stirling, in honor of that from which most of them had come.

Our friend, Geordie McIntyre, of Dunblane, Scotland, made this song based on the account of this settlement recorded in the Annals of the Town of Warren, by Cyrus Eaton, published in 1851.

It was in 1753, in the summer o' that year
Some stood silent, others cheered as we left the Greenock quay
We raised a prayer to give us strength an' banish all our fear
As we voyaged to a promised land across the western sea
 
We had maistly cam' frae Stirling an' frae Glasgow toon as well
Wi' the Greenlaw folk, frae Edinbro, the truth tae ye i'll tell
There was Malcolm and Kirkpatrick there, an' Miller and Johnstone too
Weavers, coopers and makers-o'-slates just tae name a few.
 
The time was in oor favour then an' providence proved kind
Our course was sure and steadfast as the dolphin rode the wind
Those weary weeks drew to a close when we saw the landbirds fly
And Captain Couters smiled an' he said the wooded coast was nigh

We landed at Piscataquis; 't was our first port of call
Then north to the Georges Ri-ver to reach our final goal
And when we reached the sylvan shore a pipe ā€“ tune filled our ears
Aye, there was mony a fit that danced a reel an' mony an eye, wi' tears

We had trials and tribulations which, in time, we did surmount
We knew the worth o' friendship and the principles that count
This land has been a blessing bright to me an a' my kin
So I raise my glass to America, an auld Scotia far ahin!

1780 If I Were a Blackbird

This is a traditional Irish song, but relflects a true Maine story. A young lady in Ireland, Mary Young, had a lover whom she favored in spite of the opposition of her father and family. This young man was Alexander Fossett, who, after the Youngs had left for America, determined to come join her. He signed on to a cattle boat and worked his way to Philadelphia. Finding that Miss Young had come to Maine with her friends, he soon followed, was favorably received, and in due time they were married. The Fosset family has been prominent in mid-coast Maine since that time.

I think I changed two words in this traditional lyric to make the story fit just a bit better.

If I was a blackbird, could whistle and sing
I'd follow the vessel my true love sails in
And in the top rigging I'd there build my nest
And I'd flutter my wings o'er her lily white breast

I am a young sailor, my story is sad
I once was carefree and a brave sailor lad
I courted a lassie by night and by day
But now she has left me and sailed far away

I promised to take her to Donnybrook Fair
And to buy her fine ribbons to tie up her hair
I offered to marry and to stay by her side
But she said in the morning she sails with the tide
If I was a scholar and could handle the pen
One secret love letter to my true love I'd send
And I'd tell of my sorrow, my grief and my pain
Since she's gone and left me and sailed o'er to Maine

Her parents they chide me and do not agree
Saying me and my true love married never should be
But let them deprive me, let them do as they will
While there's breath on my body she's my true love still

1790 The Wild 'Prentice Boy
words Traditional, tune by Fred Gosbee

The Newry Highwayman is a traditional Irish folk song about a criminal's life, deeds, and death. It is also found in England, Scotland, the USA and Canada. The earliest known broadside is from about 1830 (Bodleian Harding B 25(2054)). Some versions mention "Mansfield" and this is sometimes taken to be William Murray, first Earl of Mansfield (1706-1793). Here is one version of the traditional lyric:

The version I sing here is from my grandather, John West, who learnt the song whilst working in the lumberwoods of Maine and New Brunswick in the first decades of the twentieth century. I wasn't able to capture his tune. He was very short of breath when I collected the song and kept changing key, so this melody is my attempt to construct a tune that is the same "shape" as his.

In Newry Town I was bred and born
In Steven's Green now I'll lie in scorn
I served my time at the saddler's trade
And I always was a roving blade

At seventeen I took a wife
And I loved her dearer than I loved my life
And for to keep her both fine and gay
I went a-robbing on the King's highway

I've never robbed any poor man yet
Nor any tradesman caused I to fret
But I robbed Lords and their Ladies fine
And I carried their gold home to my heart's delight

To Covent Garden I took my way
With my dear wife for to see the play
Lord Fielding's men, they did me pursue
And taken was I by that cursed crew

My father cried "My darling son"
My wife, she cried "I am undone"
My mother tore her white locks and cried
That in the cradle I should have died

When I am dead, aye, and for my grave
A flashy funeral pray let me have
Six highwaymen for to carry me
Give them broadswords and sweet liberty

Six pretty fair maids to bear my pall
Give them white ribbons and green garlands all
When I am dead, they  may speak the truth
"He was a wild and a wicked youth"

In Newry Town I was bred and born
In Steven's Green now I'll lie in scorn
I served my time at the saddler's trade
And I always was a roving blade

1813 The Capture of the Crown
New words and arrangement by Fred Gosbee

This song is from a biography of Commodore Samuel Tucker, a very successful captain for the United States in the Revolutionary War. He retired with his winnings to Beacon Hill in Boston but through a combination of failed investments and high living he lost his fortune and retired to a farm in Bremen on the shores of Muscongus Bay in Coastal Maine.

When the British privateer, Bream, was raiding Maine coastal villages in the War of 1812, a crew of Bristol fishermen decided to put to sea and stop the raiders. Someone loaned a sloop and small cannon were borrowed from the fort in Edgecomb. The volunteer crew asked Commodore Tucker, then 67 years old, to take charge of the expedition. They cruised off midcoast Maine for three days and saw nothing.

Food and rum may have been running out - and the men from Edgecomb were getting nervous about leaving their town undefended. The sloop returned to Edgecomb, offloaded the cannon and was making way toward Bristol when they encountered the British sloop, Crown. In the ensuing conflict Tucker did what he had done during his naval career: he outsailed them, putting the Crown into an undefensible position. Contrary to the lyric there was only one round of small arms fire and the only casualty was the British captain's hat. The Crown surrendured and there was little damage to either vessel - but what kind of song would that make?

Peter Collamore was known as the Bremen Giant or the Bremen Monster, because of his great size and immense strength. The story of him using the achor as a grappeling hook is well known in the oral tradition of Bremen, where the Collamore family has lived for many generations. I took the liberty to add a verse about Collamore to the original ballad, which was found in The Life of Samuel Tucker, Commodore in the American Revolution, by John Hannibal Sheppard, published in 1868.

So cheer up, my lively lads and never be it said
That the brave boys of Bristol were ever yet afraid

On the 26th of April, it plainly doth appear
The brave boys of Bristol fitted out a privateer
In command of Captain Tucker- a sloop both neat and trim
And we set out to cruise the seas all for to take the Bream

We cruised the shores for several days and nothing did appear
At length our brave commander resolved to homeward steer
It was on a Friday morning, and clear was the sky
And as we were returning, a sail we did spy

Then rose our bold commander and to his men did say
"My boys, be all stout-hearted and do not fail today!
Our enemy's before us and after her we'll run
For I'm resolved to take her before the setting sunĆ®

Then we bore away for her and up to her did come
We hauled down our foresail and gave her a gun
'Twas broadside and broadside we showed her Yankee play
'Til our enemy got frightened and tried to run away

We went to bind her to our side but much to our chagrin
We found we had no grappling hooks to seize and pull her in.
Till Collamore leapt up and swung the anchore o're his head.
"Captain, shall I let her fly?" the Bremen monster said.

Then they quit their quarters and down below they run
We shot away their halliards and down their colors come
Their captain he stepped forward and waving of his hand
He cried "I must surrender; this I can no longer stand!"

Then we hoisted out our boats and on board of her did go
We made them all prisoners and ordered them below
We hoisted Yankee colors and hauled the British down
And when we did examine her, she proved to be the Crown

"Now" says our brave commander "we'll bring our prize ashore
For we're the boys that fear no noise, though cannons loudly roar!
And quickly we will clear the coast of all these British boys
For we will fight 'em till we die, and never mind their noise!"

Now we have fought this privateer till she is overcome
And God bless Captain Tucker this day for what he's done
Likewise his officers and all his jolly crew
God grant that they may prosper in everything they do

1815 The Ballad of the Widow Stone © 2000 Fred Gosbee

In 2000, Julia and I were engaged to perform "an historically informed concert" for the tercentenary of Framingham, Massachusetts (part of southern Maine until 1820). We knew very little about the history of Framingham so they loaned us their local history synopsis. We found many interesting tidbits about the town such as the existance of two fox-hunting clubs into the 1960s.

The story of the door was the last entry and was so evocative that I set out to write the song. When we performed it we were invited to see the door, which is still in use. Between two carved hearts is a small, framed silhouette of Widow Stone, reputed to be a handsome English woman. On the back of the frame is a tiny envelope and in the envelope is this story, written down in 1830.

The song replicates the story in verse. With its refrains and repeated chorus lines this song is reminiscent of an old ballad, however I haven't found any old songs structured quite like this. When I first introduced the song and told the audience it had fifteen verses they didn't believe me!

The protagonist in the story is never identified, nor is the reason he left town after his proposal of marriage. We do know that Captain Nixon was a fifer in the Revolutionary War; the Framingham Historical Society has his tune book. I wrote the lyric based on the idea that the events were around the War of 1812. It may well have been earlier, but certainly not much later.

One day as the sun was setting low
	There's dew on the bud so early
One day as the sun was setting low
	And the flower's fair at noon
One day as the sun was setting low
A traveler came down the road
His pack and gun were his only load
	And the bloom aye fades away

He stopped that night to take his rest
At the Nobscot Inn where the ale is best
Never dreaming love would pierce his breast

For as he took his meal alone
'Twas there he met the Widow Stone
Oh, Cupid's darts were quickly thrown
	
Her face was fair, her eyes were clear
As they conversed with much good cheer
It seemed he'd known her many a year
	
He took the widow by the hand
And said, "I'll have you understand
"I go to join the Patriot Band"
	
"But when I've done what I must do
"My fondest wish I'll tell you true
"Is to return and marry you"
	
The Widow Stone then turned her head
Her cheeks, they blushed a rosy red
"May God go with you, sir!" she said
	 
At break of day the man was gone
To bloody battles fierce and long
Yet he often dreamt of Widow Stone

At last the Patriots won the war
And a bearded veteran, gaunt and sore
Came trudging down the road once more
	
He went to the Nobscot Inn straightway
Where he left Widow Stone that long gone day
What he found there filled him with dismay
	
For Nixon he had come to town
That Captain bold of high  renown
The Widow Stone in wedlock bound
	
That night he knocked upon their door
'Twas just to to see his love once more
"Oh, can you shelter a vet'ran poor?"
	
She rose at once to let him in
He joined their table like a friend
But she never knew that it was him
	
Then in the dark hours of the night
With the moon and stars his only light
He crept downstairs with his long, sharp knife
 
The man was gone in the early morn
He left no trace from the night before
Save two hearts carved in the parlor door
For the bloom aye fades away

1839 Maine Battle Song
Tune: Maggie Lauder

This song appeared in Maine newspapers in 1839 during the Aroostook War. In this border dispute between Maine and New Brunswick the Maine legislature, through belicose rhetorhic and the mustering of the Maine militia into the disputed territory, almost forced the U.S. into a war with England. There was much sabre-rattling on both sides but there were no battles and all the casualties were of non-combative causes.

The economic driver of the conflict was the huge stands of virgin forest in northern Maine. Daniel Webster and Lord Ashburton negotiated the present border which preserved communication for Canada between the Maritime Provinces and western Canada. Maine retained the rich timberlands in the Penobscot river basin and the southern shore of the St. John River. Interestingly, Webster and Ashburton were close friends and Ashburton had large land holdings in eastern Maine. The border established in 1842 by the Webster-Ashburton Treaty is almost identical to that proposed by King William I of the Netherlands in 1830.

As a consequence of the treaty, communities such as Madawaska, which were on both sides of the St John River, suddenly were divided by an international boundary. The Webster-Ashburton Treaty laid the groundwork for the longest unfortified international border in the world which, until recently, was little more than a formality to cross.

The Flag of Bennington is a revolutionary-era U.S. battle flag. The references to the Bennington flag and the "July thunder" harken back the the Revolutionary War.

Come, sogers! take your muskets up and grasp your faithful rifles;
We're gwoin to lick the red coat men, who call us Yankees "trifles".
Bring out the big gun made of brass which causes July thunder.
Bring out the flag of Bennington and strike the foe with wonder.

We'll lick the red coats anyhow and drive them from the border.
The loggers are awake and all await the gin'ral's order.
Britannia shall not rule the Maine, nor shall she rule the water.
They've sung that song full long enough, much longer than they oughter.

The Aroostook is a right slick stream; has nation sight og woodlands
And hang the feller that would lose his footing on such good land!
And all along the boundary line there's pasturing for cattle,
But where that line of boundary is we must decide by battle.

We do not care about the land but they shant hook it from us.
"Our country, right or wrong!" we cry; "No budging or compromise."
So beat the sheepskin, blow the fife and march in training order.
Our way is through the wilderness and all along the border

1883 The Wreck of the Edjuardo © 2007 Fred Gosbee

As told to me by Delia Mae Farris, whose family has lived in Cutler, Maine, for generations.

Maine was the first state to pass alcohol prohibition in 1851. Although it was not vigorously enforced in all communities it could be difficult to wet one's whistle so when a ship loaded with wine grounded out near Little River in Cutler the local fishermen jumped at the chance to stock their cellars. The ensuing six-month bender involved most of the town. The Reverend Farnum complained about people whittling and dancing in the church (on Sunday!), and being generally rowdy. He wrote the letter to the Machias Republican newspaper in which he complained that Cutler had become a "New Downest Gomorrah".

The practice of drilling up through the planking of a dock to steal liquor is not unique to Cutler. In the ninteenth century restauranteurs of larger cities such as Boston or New York would purchase wine by the cask. Usually they would go to the harbor to sample the vintage assure it was acceptable. It was not unusual for local wharf rats to go beneath the dock and drill up between the planking to tap into the wine.

Upon further investigation I have found that the date of this incident was actually August, 1883 and the the storehouse where the barrels were impounded was on Farris's dock instead of Corbett's. Valsusa is a modern wine, so that is an anachronism but the song has escaped, so there it stands. Otherwise it happened just this way. This lyric is the "official" version - not necessarily the way I sing it now.

Delia Mae really does have a piece of the old dock planking, holes and all.

It was August, eighty-eight, when a steamer hauling freight
Ran aground near Little River in the fog.
Bound for Boston at the time loaded with Italian wine,
So it says according to the log

Eduardo was a mess so she signaled her distress
So some Cutler boys rowed to her o'er the tide
When they found out what she carried they never even tarried
until several casks of wine went o'er the side

A six month toot and no one gave a hoot
If they were drinking asti or chianti or valsusa
Everyone felt fine until they ran out of wine
When Cutler had a six month toot.

The captain of Eduardo , well, he tried to keep his cargo
But the Cutlerites were brazen and were bold.
And before the sheriff came to end their little game
They had taken every bottle in the hold.

When the owner's agent came only heavy casks remained
Which were salvaged with hard labor o'er the rocks.
They put them in a store with a guard before the door 
That was situated right on Corbett's dock.

Now the boys thought it a waste that they couldn't  have a taste
From those barrels that were locked up in the store.
So with augers and with drills and some vessels they could fill
They rowed beneath and bored up through the floor

Now they borrowed every can, baby bottle, tub, and pan
It's a wonder that the dory's weren't all sunk.
The water jugs went missing -  there was not a pot to piss in
When the Cutlerites went on their six-month drunk.

Though it wasn't strong as whisky, still everyone was frisky
When they started drinking wine that August day
They danced in church on Sunday, had hair of the dog on Monday
And didn't sober up until next May.

Now a few folk still went fishing; there were others maybe wishing
That all that wine would somehow turn to water.
Farnum, who was reverend, was mortally offended
At the antics of the Cutler sons and daughters.

When he finally had enough he quit Cutler in a huff
Wrote a letter which expressed his pain and sorrow
That in spite of prohibition, Cutler lost all inhibitions
And had become a new Downeast Gomorrah.

It's a century and more since they bored up through the floor
But still in town you'll see a souvenier.
Where Delia Mae still keeps, as a conversation piece,
Some perforated planking from the pier

Till It Is Clear Day

Carrie Grover came to Maine from Nova Scotia at the age of twelve. She was a wonderful singer and fiddler who lived for many years in Gorham, Maine. Her Heritage of Songs contains songs she learned from her mother and father; this is one of her mother's. We have not found this song anywhere else.Here are her remarks about this song:

"In 1811, I believe, my grandmother Long's father, William Hutchenson was given a grant of land between the villages of Wnndsor and Chester in Nova Scotia with the provision that he build a public house halfway between the two villages for the accomodation of all travelers. As there is a fine harbor at Chester, what is more likely than that this song was sung at the public house by sailors waiting for sailing orders?"

It was down in Cupid's garden where my love and I, we chanced to meet
I put my arms around her and gave to her some kisses sweet

For it's not the time to go, boys, for to go, boys, for to go away,
For it's not the time to go, boys, we will drink away till it is clear day

I bought a bottle of good brandy to drink in my loves company
But she was so proud and haughty that de'ils the drop would she drink with me

Come, landlady, my darling, come fill us up a glass with speed
We will drink it as a cordial, a cordial in the time of need

For now is the time to go, boys, for to go, boys, for to go away
For now is the time to go, boys. We will drink no more, for it is clear da

Mary L. McKay

Originally built in Essex MA in 1894, the "Effie Morrissey" (as she was then called) had a 30 year career as a fishing vessel and cargo ship running from New England to Nova Scotia. Her speed and maneuverability gained her reputation which resulted in a ballad by Frederick William Wallace, a crew member. Originally written in 1913, "The Log of the Record Run" describes a 225-mile passage made by the Morrissey in 18 1/2 hours in gale-force winds. The name of the ship was changed to "Mary L. McKay" due to the nature of the voyage with Maine still under prohibition. It was an instant hit and the captain, Bob Bartlett, requested a signed copy. The story is well entrenched in fishing folklore both in Maine and Nova Scotia and the song has passed into folk tradition. The folk process has transmuted the song with many of the variants being the result of ignorance of nautical or local terms and even geography.

O come, all you hearty haddockers, who winter fishing go,
And brave the seas upon the Banks in stormy winds and snow
And you who love hard driving, come listen to my lay
Of the run we made from Portland on the Mary L. Mackay.

We hung the muslin on her, as the wind began to hum,
Twenty hardy Nova Scotia men chock full of Portland rum,
Mainsail, foresail, jib and jumbo, on that wild December day,
As we passed Cape Elizabeth and slugged for Fundy Bay.

Chorus:
Storm along, drive along, punch her through the rips
DonÕt heed those boarding combers as the solid green she ships
ŌT would fill your heart with terror, and youÕd wish you were away
At home in bed and not aboard the Mary L McKay

We slammed her past Monhegan as the gale began to scream,
Our vessel took to dancing in a way that was no dream,
A howler o'er the topsail we steered her east away,
O she was a hound for running, was the Mary L. Mackay.

We slammed her to Matinicus, the skipper hauled the log,
`Sixteen knots! Lord Harry, ain't she just the gal to jog?'
The half-canned wheelsman shouted, as he swung her on her way,
`Just watch me tear the mainsail off the Mary L. Mackay.

Chorus

Well, the rum was passing merrily and the gang was feeling grand,
Long necks dancing in her wake from where we left the land,
Our skipper he kept sober, for he knew how things would lay,
And he made us furl the mainsail on the Mary L. Mackay.

Under foresÕl, jib and jumbo we tore wildly through the night
The surging foaming whitecaps in the moonshine made a sight
And in the wild inferno, boys we soon had hell to pay
But we didnÕt give a hoot aboard the Mary L McKay

Chorus

We lashed our wheelsman to the box as he steered her through the
gloom.
A big sea hove his dory-mate right over the main-boom,
It tore the oil pants off his legs and you could hear him say,
`There's a power of water flying o'er the Mary L. Mackay.'

Now, our skipper didn't care to make his wife a widow yet,
He swung her off to Yarmouth Cape with just her foresail set.
We passed Fourchu next morning and shot in at break of day,
And soon in sheltered harbour lay the Mary L. Mackay.

Chorus

From Portland, Maine, to Yarmouth Cape two-twenty miles we ran,
In eighteen hours, my bully boys, now beat that if you can,
The crew said it was seamanship, the skipper he kept dumb,
But the force that drove our vessel was the power of Portland rum.

The Banks of Newfoundland

You may all bless your happy lot that safely dwell on shore
You do not know what howling winds around poor seamen roar
You do not know what hardships great that we were forced to stand
For fourteen days and fourteen nights on the banks of Newfoundland

Our captain, mate and sailors ten made up our good ship's crew
Ten passengers we had on board made up to twenty-two
Some had wives and families on their dear native strand
Hoping soon to come across by the banks of Newfoundland

We sailed away through frost and snow from the day we left Quebec
And if we had not walked about we'l have frozen to the deck
But being a true-born sailor man as ever took command
Our captain doubled our grog each day on the banks of Newfoundland

Our vessel never sailed before the stormy western sea
She was well rigged and fitted out before she sailed away
But made of green unseasoned wood, she little could withstand
The hurricane that struck us on the banks of Newfoundland.

The tempest blew from sunset to the cold wintry dawn
When she fell on to leeward, two of her masts were gone
Our captain says: 'My brave boys, we must inventions plan
For to hoist a signal of distress on the Banks of Newfoundland'

If you had seen our doleful state your heart would be oppressed
It blew a most tremendous gale with the wind from the southwest
Some of our men jumped overboard thinking they would swim to land
But alas, it was five hundred miles from the banks of Newfoundland

By the morning of the twelfth day our provisions had run out
On the morning of the thirteenth day the lots were cast about
The lot fell to the captainÕs son, but hoping relief at hand,
We spared him another day on the banks of Newfounfland

On the morning of the fourteenth day we told him to prepare
We gave to him another hour for to offer up a prayer
But Providence proved kind to us, kept blood from every hand
For an English vessel hove in sight on the banks of Newfoundland.

Oh when we were taken off the wreck we were more like ghosts than men
They clothed us and they fed and then brought us home again
But five of our brave sailor men ne'er saw their native land
And our captain lost both feet by frost on the Banks of Newfoundland

Of all the gallant company that were our brave ship's crew
There live but five to tell the tale, and passengers but two
For the rest, their friends may shed salt tears on their native strand
But the mountain waves roll o'er their graves on the Banks of Newfoundland

The Dark Eyed Sailor

The Boxer and the Enterprise

(Printed in The Bird of Birds, 1818.) Songs & Ballads Of The Maine Lumberjacks / Roland Palmer Gray p149 Revised by Fred Gosbee 2013 using the tune "Portsmouth"

Come all ye sons of Freedom, 
Come, listen unto me,  
I 'll tell of an engagement  
Which happened on the sea,  
Between the Enterprise and Boxer, 
Two noble ships of fame,  
Though the Enterprise is but small 
Soon she made the Boxer tame.  

We sailed out of Portland harbor 
In a sweet and pleasant gale,  
The saucy Boxer hovering round,  
She proudly spread her sail.  
It being about Meridian 
When we to them drew near,  
We hoisted Yankee Colors,  
And gave to them three cheers. 

It  was on the third of September, 
It being a glorious day, 
The Enterprise and Boxer, 
Had their a bloody fray.
Until the Enterprise box'd her, 
And quickly made them see  
That we were Yankee heroes  
Just from America  

So now weÕve gain'd the victory, 
My Yankee hearts of steel,  
But heavy was the price we paid,  
To force our foes to yield.  
For in the fight was Burgess hit
He got his mortal blow
Alas our young commander
Shall see Portland town no more.

When we came on board the Boxer
ŌT would grieve your hearts full sore
To see all those proud Englishmen
Lying in their gore
And there upon the quarterdeck
Where officers do tread
Their young captain, Samuel Blyth,
Was found among the dead.

In a Portland cemetery 
Those two young heroes lie, 
God bless Lieutenant Burrows,  
And Captain Blyth likewise  
From the roaring din of battle,
The province of the brave,
They slumber for eternity
In the silence of their grave.  

The Irish Rover

The Green Bed

Lyrics mended by Julia Lane & Fred Gosbee Published in British Ballads from Maine II / Fanny Hardy Eckstorm Sent in by Mrs Annie V. Marston, West Gouldsboro, Maine September 1926 Melody also sent by her 1929

This song has elements of both the Saucy Sailor and the Wild Rover. It is interesting to note that in older versions of the Rover, it is the landlord who challenges the young man; more recently, it is the lady of the house. In the Saucy Sailor, the young woman challenges him directly.

 It is of a young sea captain who lately came ashore
He went up to an alehouse where he had been before
"You are welcome home, young Johnny, you are welcome home from sea
Last night my daughter Polly was dreaming of thee

"What luck had you, young Johnny? What luck come tell to me."
"We lost our ship and cargo all on the raging sea
"Across the wide Atlantic my ship and cargo crossed;
All on the wide Atlantic my ship and cargo lost."

"But bring down pretty Polly and set her on my knee!
Bring down pretty Polly and married we  will be"
" My daughter she is absent, oh she has gone away
And if she were at home John, she would not let you stay"

And when young John heard this, he hung down his head
He called for a candle to light him to bed
"The beds are all full John, this fortnight or more, 
And you are not welcome for you are very poor"
 
He looked upon the landlord; he looked upon them all
And then for his reckoning so loudly he did call *
"Twenty shillings of the new, John, and thirty of the old" **
Young John he pulled out both hands full of gold.

Then in came pretty Polly all with a smiling face
She gave him three kisses and then a kind embrace
"You are welcome, young Johnny, you are welcome home from sea! 
The green bed is empty for you young Johnny" ***

"I care not for your green bed; I would rather lie in the street.
When you thought I had no money, my lodgings I might seek
Now IÕve money in both pockets I will make the taverns whirl
With a bottle of good brandy and on each knee a girl!"

Now all of you young sailors, a warning take by me
Be careful of your money when you return from sea
Be careful of your money and lay it up in store
For if not they surely will turn you from their door.

If I Were a Blackbird (Maine melody)

This is a traditional Irish song, but relflects a true Maine story Alexander Fossett, of Northern Ireland, followed his sweetheart to Bristol Maine when her parents sent her there to discourage their marriage

If I was a blackbird, could whistle and sing
I'd follow the vessel my true love sails in
And in the top rigging I'd there build my nest
And I'd flutter my wings o'er her lily white breast

I am a young sailor, my story is sad
Though once I was carefree and a brave sailor lad
I courted a lassie by night and by day
Ah but now she has left me and sailed far away

I crossed o'er the ocean, my fortune to seek
Though I missed her caress and her kiss on my cheek.
I returned and I told her my love was still warm
But she tearfully told me I would soon be forlorn.

I promised to take her to Donnybrook Fair
And to buy her fine ribbons to tie up her hair
I offered to marry and to stay by her side
But she said in the morning she sails with the tide

If I was a scholar and could handle the pen
One secret love letter to my true love I'd send
And I'd tell of my sorrow, my grief and my pain
Since she's gone and left me and sailed o'er to Maine.

Her parents they chide me and do not agree
Saying me and my true love never married should be
Ah but let them deprive me, let them do as they will
While there's breath on my body she's my true love still

The Schooner Fred Dunbar

By Amos Hanson

from Barry in Bulletin of the Folk-Song Society of the Northeast, 1933 Collected from Mrs. Emory Howard, North Bluehill, ME in 1932

You darling girls of Bagaduce who live along the shore
'Tis little do you think or know what sailors do endure
Or if you did, you would treat them with more respect than before
You never would go with a landloper while sailors are on shore

Oh those Penobscot cowboys will tell you girls fine tales
Of the hardships they endure while they are in the cornfields
While they feed their hens and punch their pigs and make their mothers roar
While we, like jovial-hearted boys, go to the Bay Chaleur

You darling girls of Bagaduce perhaps you'd like to know
The names of all our sailors before we start to go
Their names and dispositions, I'll endeavor to explain
Before we set our canvas to plough the raging main

The first was Hiram Wardwell who runs the Rory O'More
The next was Captain Perkins who roams the golden shore
They're very much respected by all both fore and aft
Two better men cannot be found on an Androscoggin raft

There was little Herman, Leroy and Bill, and Oliver Quinn and Steel
And Amos H. the author, who an entry sheep did steal
The next was little Owen, who loves the girls so well
The last was young Horatio - we called him the Admiral

On board of the Schooner Fred Dunbar, well found in fishing gear
We crowded on our canvas, for Green's Landing we did steer
When we arrived at anchor, the sun was very low
'Twas there we shipped young Stinson and Captain Mood Thurlew

When we arrived at Port McGrave, we hauled in for our salt
We took our little fiddle to have a little waltz
There was twelve of us when we started, our songs through the woods did roar
When we arrived, I was surprised, I could not count but four

The first day of September, broad off Cape Mardean
We struck a squall from our south-southeast which broke our boom in two
So gallantly she weathered it and it was fine to see
She walked to the windward with mainsail down, bound out to Margaree

The last day of September will be remembered well
And how poor sailors fared that night, no tongue can ever tell
The wind blew high, the seas grew rough, and in torrents fell the rain
I never saw such a night before and hope I shan't again

You darling girls of Bagaduce, the time is drawing nigh
When soon you'll see the Stars and Stripes from the Fred's main topmast fly
Get ready, gallant lasses, put on your other gowns
For soon you'll see the Fred Dunbar come sailing up to town

O now this voyage is ended and we've arrived on shore
With our pockets full of greenbacks we have earned to the Bay Chaleur
So merrily we'll dance and sing, as we have done before,
And when our money is all gone, we'll plough the bay some more.

Mary's Dream

adapted by Julia Lane / Air traditional-Carrie Grover / Original -John Lowe, Scotland 1772

Romantic songs of sailor lovers abound in the tradition, as do tales of spectral visitation. This story appears in the History of Dresden, Maine by Charles Edwin Allen (p858).

Captain Samuel Lilly had the finest house in North Woolwich. He had it built for his wife who was an extremely aristocratic English woman. They adopted Mary Ann Goss, who had come from England, when her parents moved on to New York. They raised the child in style and she was known as the most beautiful girl in all the countryside.

When she came of age, she became engaged to Captain James Henry Perkins who was said to be remarkably handsome and very well liked. Captain Perkins commanded the brig Planter, built in 1826. On a voyage to the West Indies, the crew were all taken ill with "ship fever". AS there was no medicine chest onboard, the entire company succumbed including Captain Perkins. In his delerium, he sprang overboard and drowned.The one man who was left to tell the tale ran the ship on the Florida Keys and abandoned her. She was later brought back by Redford Tallman of Dresden.

After the death of Captain Perkins, Mary Ann Goss had a peculiar dream. In it, she saw his vessel sail up the Kennebec River and stop opposite their house. A plank was put out and, as she saw him start to walk ashore, she went to meet him. Before she could reach him, he disappeared saying "prepare to follow me". She afterwards became very melancholy and her friends tried wihout success to divert her. Less than a year after her strange dream, she was preparing for an outing when she fell lifeless to the floor. he was deeply mourned by her many friends who remarked that she was still beautiful even in death.

The following song, although written previous to the events described, was very popular in Maine in the 19th century.

The moon had climb'd the highest hill
Which rises o'er the river deep,
And from the eastern summit shed
Her silver light on field and tree;
When Mary laid her down to sleep,
Her thoughts on Jamie far at sea;
When soft and low, a voice she heard,
Saying, Mary weep no more for me!

Chorus
Mary weep no more for me (4X)

She from her pillow gently raised
Her head, to ask who there might be,
And saw young Jamie shivering stand,
With visage pale, and hollow e'e.
O Mary dear, cold is my clay;
It lies beneath a stormy sea.
Far, far from thee, I sleep in death,
So, Mary weep no more for me!


Three stormy nights and stormy days,
We toss'd upon the raging main;
And long we strove our ship to save,
But all our striving was in vain.
Even  when horror chill'd my blood,
My heart was filled with love for thee
The storm is past, and I at rest;
So, Mary, weep no more for me!


O, maiden dear, thyself prepare;
We soon shall meet upon that shore
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no more!


Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled;
No more of Jamie could she see:
But soft the passing spirit said:
Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!

The Capture of the Crown

This song is from a biography of Commadore Samual Tucker (except for the verse about Peter Collamore, which I made).

Tucker was a very successful captain in the Revolutionary War and retired with his winnings to Beacon Hill in Boston. Through a combination of failed investments and high living he lost his fortune and retired to a farm in Bremen on the shores of Muscongus Bay.

When the British privateer, Bream, was raiding Maine coastal villages in the War of 1812, a crew of Bristol fishermen decided to put to sea and stop the raiders. Someone loaned a sloop and small cannon were borrowed from the fort in Edgecomb. The volunteer crew asked Commodore Tucker, then 67 years old, to take charge of the expedition.

They cruised off midcoast Maine for three days and saw nothing. Food and rum were running out - and the men from Edgecomb were getting nervous about leaving their town undefended. The sloop returned to Edgecomb, offloaded the cannon and was making way toward Bristol when they encountered the British sloop, "Crown". In the ensuing conflict Commadore Tucker did what he had done during his naval career: he flat outsailed them, putting the Crown into an undefensible position. Contrary to the lyric there was only one round of small arms fire and the only casualty was the British cptainÕs hat. The Crown surrendured and there was little damage to either vessel - but what kind of song would that make?

Peter Collamore was known as the Bremen Giant or the Bremen Monster because of his great size and immense strength. The story of him using the achor as a grappeling hook is common in the oral tradition of Bremen, where the Collamore family has lived for many generations.

On the 26th of April, it plainly doth appear
The brave boys of Bristol fitted out a privateer
In command of Captain Tucker- a sloop both neat and trim
And we set out to cruise the seas all for to take the Bream

Chorus:
So cheer up, my lively lads and never be it said
That the brave boys of Bristol were ever yet afraid

We cruised the shores for several days and nothing did appear
At length our brave commander resolved to homeward steer
It was on a Friday morning, and clear was the sky
And as we were returning, a sail we did spy

Then rose our bold commander and to his men did say
"My boys, be all stout-hearted and do not fail today!
Our enemy's before us and after her we'll run
For I'm resolved to take her before the setting sun”

Then we bore away for her and up to her did come
We hauled down our foresail and gave her a gun
'Twas broadside and broadside we showed her Yankee play
'Til our enemy got frightened and tried to run away

We went to bind her to our side but much to our chagrin
We found we had no grappling hooks to seize and pull her in.
Till Collamore leapt up and swung the anchore oÕre his head.
"Captain, shall I let her fly?" the Bremen monster said.

Then they quit their quarters and down below they run
We shot away their halliards and down their colors come
Their captain he stepped forward and waving of his hand
He cried "I must surrender; this I can no longer stand!"


Then we hoisted out our boats and on board of her did go
We made them all prisoners and ordered them below
We hoisted Yankee colors and hauled the British down
And when we did examine her, she proved to be the Crown

"Now" says our brave commander "we'll bring our prize ashore
For we're the boys that fear no noise, tho’ cannons loudly roar!
And quickly we will clear the coast of all these British boys
For we will fight 'em till we die, and never mind their noise!"

Now we have fought this privateer till she is overcome
And God bless Captain Tucker this day for what he's done
Likewise his officers and all his jolly crew
God grant that they may prosper in everything they do

Blow Ye Winds, Aye-O

Bound Away

This is one of many songs about the Dreadnought - although this is the only version we have found where she is sailing east.

The Dreadnought was launched by Currier & Townsend in 1853 in Newburyport Mass. Put into service under Captain Samuel Samuels as a transatlantic packet she would make an average voyage of 19 days from New York to Liverpool England with cargoes of corn, cotton and other raw materials. The return voyage, with immigrants and manufactured goods, took an average of 26 days. In 1860 she made the crossing from New York to liverpool in nine days and thirteen hours, a record that stood as the fastest crossing of the Atlantic until the advent of racing catamarans in the 1980s. In all, she made twenty trips between the two great ports, before she was nearly sunk in a great storm in 1863." She sailed in the Atlantic and China trade until going down rouding Cape Horn in 1869.

Ships that carried the mail were called "packets." Swallow Tail and Black Ball were competing lines.

Bound away, bound away. Where the stormy winds blow.
Bound away in the Dreadnought to the eastward we go.

The day of our sailing is fast drawing nigh
And you my dear sweetheart I'll bid you good-bye
Godd luck to New York and all my friends here
Bound away in the Dreadnought to the eastward we steer.

And now we are hauling of the Long Island shore
Our captain's on deck, as often before
Saying,"Crowd on all sail, boys, and let her run free
"For the Dreadnaught is a clipper and fears not the sea."

And now we are sailing off the shore of Newfoundland
Where the waters change color and the bottom is sand
Where the fish of the ocean swim about to and fro
Bound away in the Dreadnought to the eastward we go.

And now we are sailing on the ocean so wide
Where the mighty blue billows rush against our dark side
Our sails neatly trimmed, the red cross to show
Bound away in the Dreadnaught to the eastward we go.

Here's a health to the Dreadnought and all her brave crew.
To bold captain Samuels and his officers too.
Talk about your flash packets, Swallowtail or Black Ball.
The Dreadnought's the clipper that will beat one and all!

WATER FIRE & SMOKE © 1987 Betsy Rose, Paper Crane Music

The guardian of Imbolc is Brigid. This very special healing time involves awakening creativity through love and nurturing the fire of inspiration. Brigid appears throughout the Celtic world in various guises. Spellings of her name vary with the language of each region, as Bride, Brigit, Bridget, Bridghe, etc., yet the stories are remarkably consistent. She is the patron of poets and musicians, craftspeople, and healers.

One of her symbols is fire and she possesses a healing mantle or cloak. Celebrated both as an ancient goddess and a Christian saint, Saint Brigid is one of the few spiritual entities who has successfully bridged the pre-Christian and Christian worlds and is revered in both. Legends abound which tell of Brigid's miraculous life and attributes, but all seem centered on compassion and the creative arts.

Ancient wisdom is timeless and relevant-

It's been a long journey to come to this place
I've traveled in time and I've traveled in space
I've traveled in circles and come face to face
With the water, fire, and smoke

I've pondered and worried, I've tightened the rope
Feasted on sorrow and starved out my hope
Now I come like a lover, my heart in my throat
Give me water, fire, and smoke


So run from the churchyard, the word and the cross
Run to the forest, to the rivers and the rocks
You will find a green altar deep in the moss
You'll find water, fire, and smoke

Water for cleansing my eyes and my ears
Fire the transformer of sorrows and fears
Smoke for my ancestors, drawing them near
With the water, fire, and smoke

Ancient the spirits of rocks, trees, and wind
Ancient the rites of the green sacrament
Long before judgment, atonement, and sin
There was water, fire, and smoke

So run from the churchyard, the word and the cross
Run to the forest, to the rivers and the rocks
You will find a green altar deep in the moss
You'll find water, fire, and smoke

I've laid down my burdens, the weight of my years
Gods I have worshipped and causes held dear
But who will I be when they all disappear
Into water, fire, and smoke?

I've knelt in the ashes, in peace may I rise
Empty of knowing, and full of surprise
Clothed all in silence, a daughter baptized
In the water, fire, and smoke

So run from the churchyard, the word and the cross
Run to the forest, to the rivers and the rocks
You will find a green altar deep in the moss
You'll find water, fire, and smoke

GLOOMY WINTER'S NOO AWA' / SMILING SPRING

Throughout the northern Hemisphere a change in light is beginning to be evident by the first of February. There is often a thaw at about this time and in some areas the grasses and early flowers begin to show in protected sun-drenched corners. The early spring is a time of hope as the world begins to emerge from winter's darkness.

These two traditional Scottish melodies with a poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909) reflect the beauty of the shifting season.

Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909)

For Winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; 
The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; 
And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, 
And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

IMBOLCTIDE /THE MERRY OLD WOMAN / CAILLEACH AN DUDAN

The ancient Celtic people believed that each season had a guardian and personified the winter as the Cailleach, or old Crone. Her reign began at Samhain (Oct. 31) and continued through Yule until Imbolc in February. She would beat the ground with her silver hammer causing it to freeze. At Imbolc, some stories say that she is transformed into the spring maiden, Brigid, while others tell of a great struggle as light and warmth displace darkness and cold signifying the release of the captive daughter. Like the Greek Persephone, Brigid emerges from the bondage of winter to revive the earth.

Although the Cailleach often appears as a threatening figure, here is another view of the Auld Granny written in Scots, the ancient language of the lowlands, accompanied by two appropriate jigs.

IMBOLCTIDE by Holly Morrison

An unco' dance on cranreuch groond 
An' gies her sillar curls a crimp, 
Ye ken that Imbolc's comin' roond.

When sillar hammers, blaw for blaw
Fa' habber-haird in hin'maist hone
Then haud ye fast, for soon the thaw
Will prize awa cauld winter's loan.

Nae lang she'll lanesame bide, nor sup
Wi'oot the dochter she lo'es best;
Nae grannie redds the kailyaird up
But for the thocht o some comin' guest!

Nae mair the lanesame anvil-drum
Will mark the pace o Grannie's dance--
The Lass o' the Lintin Wand shall come
An lowpin' lambies hae their chaunce--

For Grannie Cailleach's time grows short
An wee snaw-drappies rowthie ring
For Bridgit cams, blithe hope tae sport
An after Bridgit cams-- the Spring!

Glossary
• lanesome = lonesomeunco'
• cranreuch = strange frosty
• sillar = silver
• Fa' habber-haird in hin'maist hone = begin to stutter and fade away
• prize = pry
• dochter = daughter
• redds the kailyaird up = cleans the place
• lintin wand = glinting wand of Bridgit
• lowpin' = leaping
• Cailleach = crone, earth-goddess
• snaw-drappies = snowdrops
• rowthie = abundantly

THE HARP OF DAGDA