Blow, Ye Winds
campfire
- 'Tis advertised in Boston, New York and Buffalo,
- Five hundred brave Americans, a-whaling for to go, singing
Blow, ye winds in the morning, And blow, ye winds, high-i!
Clear away your running gear, And blow, ye winds, high-o!
- They send you to New Bedord, that famous whaling port,
- And give you to some land-sharks to board and fit you out.
- They tell you of the clipper-ships-a-going in and out,
- And say you'll take five hundred whales before you're six months out.
- It's now we're out to sea, my boys, the wind comes on to blow;
- One half the watch is sick on deck, the other half below.
- But as for the provisions, we don't get half enough;
- A little piece of stinking beef and a blamed small bag of duff.
- Now comes the running rigging, which you're all supposed to know;
- 'Tis "Lay aloft, you son-of-a-gun, or overboard you go!"
- The Skipper's on the quarter-deck a-squinting at the sails,
- When up aloft the lookout sights a mighty school of whales.
- "Now clear away the boats, my boys, and after him we'll travel,
- But if you get too near his fluke, he'll kick you to the devil!"
- Now we have got him turned up, we tow him alongside;
- We over with our blubber-hooks and rob him of his hide.
- Next comes the stowing down, my boys; 'twill take both night and day,
- And you'll all have fifty cents apiece on the hundred ninetieth lay.
- But now that our old ship is full and we don't give a damn,
- We'll bend on all our stu'nsails and sail for Yankee land.
- When we get home, our ship made fast, and we get through our sailing,
- A winding glass around we'll pass and damn this blubber whaling!
Traditional
Lyrics from Songs of American Sailormen, by Joanna Colcord
- 'Tis advertised in Boston, New York and Buffalo,
- Five hundred brave Americans, a-whaling for to go, singing
Blow, ye winds in the morning, And blow, ye winds, high-i!
Clear away your running gear, And blow, ye winds, high-o!
- They send you to New Bedord, that famous whaling port,
- And give you to some land-sharks to board and fit you out.
- They send you to a boarding-house, there for a time to dwell;
- The thieves they there are thicker than the other side of hell!
- They tell you of the clipper-ships-a-going in and out,
- And say you'll take five hundred sperm before you're six months out.
- It's now we're out to sea, my boys, the wind comes on to blow;
- One half the watch is sick on deck, the other half below.
- But as for the provisions, we don't get half enough;
- A little piece of stinking beef and a blamed small bag of duff.
- Now comes that damned old compass, it will grieve your heart full sore.
- For theirs is two-and-thirty points and we have forty-four.
- Next comes the running rigging, which you're all supposed to know;
- 'Tis "Lay aloft, you son-of-a-gun, or overboard you go!"
- The cooper's at the vise-bench, a-making iron poles,
- And the mate's upon the main hatch a-cursing all our souls.
- The Skipper's on the quarter-deck a-squinting at the sails,
- When up aloft the lookout sights a school of whales.
- "Now clear away the boats, my boys, and after him we'll travel,
- But if you get too near his fluke, he'll kick you to the devil!"
- Now we have got him turned up, we tow him alongside;
- We over with our blubber-hooks and rob him of his hide.
- Now the boat-steerer overside the tackle overhauls,
- The Skipper's in the main-chains, so loudly he does bawl!
- Next comes the stowing down, my boys; 'twill take both night and day,
- And you'll all have fifty cents apiece on the hundred and ninetieth lay.
- Now we are bound into Tonbas, that blasted whaling port,
- And if you run away, my boys, you surely will get caught.
- Now we are bound into Tuckoona, full more in their power,
- Where the skippers can buy the Consul up for half a barrel of flour!
- But now that our old ship is full and we don't give a damn,
- We'll bend on all our stu'nsails and sail for Yankee land.
- When we get home, our ship made fast, and we get through our sailing,
- A winding glass around we'll pass and damn this blubber whaling!