THE GREAT LAKES
“But I—I fed the fishes,
I gave them my best wishes—
I fed the fishes clear to old St. Joe.”
From Ben King’s Poems.
RED IRON ORE*
Come all you bold sailors that follow the Lakes
On an iron-ore vessel your living to make.
I shipped in Chicago, bid adieu to the shore,
Bound away to Escanaba for red iron ore.
Chorus:
Derry down, derry down, derry down.
In the month of September, the seventeenth day,
Two dollars and a quarter is all they would pay,
And on Monday morning the Bridgeport did take
The E. C. Roberts out in the lake.
The wind from the south’ard sprang up a fresh breeze,
And away through Lake Michigan the Roberts did roar,
And on Friday morning we passed through death’s door.
This packet she howled across the mouth of Green Bay,
And before her cutwater she dashed the white spray.
We rounded the sand point, our anchor let go,
We furled in our canvas, and the watch went below.
Next morning we hove alongside the exile,
And soon was made fast to an iron-ore pile,
They lowered their chutes and like thunder did roar,
They spouted into us that red iron ore.
Some sailors took shovels while others got spades,
And some took wheelbarrows—each man to his trade.
We looked like red devils, our fingers got sore,
We cursed Escanaba and that damned iron ore.
The tug Escanaba she towed out of the Minch,
The Roberts she thought she had left in a pinch,
And as she passed us by she bid us good-by,
Saying, “We’ll meet you in Cleveland next Fourth of July.”
Through Louse Island it blew a fresh breeze;
We made the Foxes, the Beavers, the Skillagees;
We flew by the Minch for to show her the way,
And she never hove in sight till we were off Thunder Bay.
Across Saginaw Bay the Roberts did ride
With dark and deep water rolling over her side.
And now for Port Huron the Roberts must go,
Where the tug Kate Williams took us in tow.
We went through North Passage—O Lord, how it blew!
And all round the Dummy a large fleet there came too.
The night being dark, Old Nick it would scare.
We hove up next morning and for Cleveland did steer.
Now the Roberts in Cleveland, made fast stem and stern,
And over the bottle we’ll spin a big yarn.
But Captain Harvey Shannon had ought to stand treat,
For getting to Cleveland ahead of the fleet.
Now my song is ended, I hope you won’t laugh.
Our dunnage is packed and all hands are paid off.
Here’s health to the Roberts, she’s stanch, strong, and true;
Not forgotten the bold boys that comprise her crew.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.
* From Franz L. Rickaby’s Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy.