Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest,
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
We wrapped 'em all in a mainsail tight
With twice ten turns of a hawser's bight,
And we heaved 'em over and out of sight
With a yo-heave-ho and a fare-ye-well,
And a sullen plunge in a sullen swell,
Ten fathoms along on the road to hell--
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
[12] To observe liberties taken with the text, compare these verses
with authentic version.
* * * * *
_September 20, 1914._
Who that loves tales of adventure, thrilling yarns involving the
search for mysteriously lost treasure, has not gloried in "Treasure
Island"? And who that recalls STEVENSON's stirring romance does not
involuntarily chant to himself the ridiculous but none the leas
fascinating verse commencing
"Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest--"
as if the gruesome rhyme were in a way intended as a sort of
refrain for the entire story? When we were younger we undoubtedly
speculated on the amazing capacity of this particular dead man's
chest, and we gloated over the uncanny wickedness of the whole
affair. The verse, however, turns out to be one of those
curiosities of literature which is unearthed every now and then by
some industrious contributor to the "Query Page" of THE NEW YORK
TIMES BOOK REVIEW. In this number of the latter the entire song or
"chantey" is given, copied from an old scrapbook, and while it can
hardly be recommended as a delectable piece of literature, in any
sense, it is interesting, aside from its Stevensonian connection,
as a bit of rough, unstudied sailor's jingle, the very authorship
of which is long since forgotten. And the youthful myth of the Dead
Man's Chest--that, too, it appears, is not at all the thing that
fancy painted it. The real Dead Man's Chest, however, as "W. L."
explains it, is quite as alluring as the imaginary one and will
appeal to the student of geographical peculiarities in the West
Indies.
* * * * *
_October 4, 1914._
"FIFTEEN MEN ON THE DEAD MAN'S CHEST"
_New York Times Review of Books_:
The fine old sea poem, "Fifteen Men on the Dead Man's Chest,"
recently quoted in your columns, was written by Younge E. Allison.
I have raked through various biographical dictionaries trying to
discover who Younge E. Allison was, but without results. The man
who wrote such a poem should not be unknelled, unhonored, and
unsung. In your editorial touching the rhyme I don't think you do
it justice. You describe it as "a rough, unstudied sailor's
jingle," whereas it is a work of art. Some of the lines are
tremendous, and the whole poem has a haunting quality that never
yet distinguished a mere jingle. I never weary of repeating some of
its sonorous lines.
WALT MASON.
Emporia, Kan., Sept. 24.
EDITORIAL NOTE.--We have received several other letters in which
the authorship of the lines is credited to Mr. Allison, who is a
resident of Louisville, Ky., and the editor of The Insurance Field
of that city. Mr. Allison was at one time a correspondent of
THE NEW YORK TIMES and also has written several books of fiction,
including "The Passing of Major Galbraith." It is not likely,
however, that he wrote the famous old chanty. One of our
correspondents writes that Mr. Allison "reconstructed" the song
some years ago on the first four lines which are quoted in
Stevenson's "Treasure Island."
Our correspondent, "W. L.," who furnished the copy of the song as
published recently in THE BOOK REVIEW says, however, that he copied
the verses from a manuscript written into a book which bears this
title: "Tales of the Ocean and Essays for the Forecastle,
Containing Matters and Incidents Humorous, Pathetic, Romantic, and
Sentimental, by Hawser Martingale, Boston, Printed and Published by
S. W. Dickinson, 52 Washington St., 1843." This book belonged to
his grandfather, who died in 1874, and the song was familiar to "W.
L." in his youth as early as 1870.
In a letter to W. E. Henley, dated at Braemar, Aug. 25, 1881,
written when Stevenson had begun the writing of "Treasure Island,"
he writes:
I am now on another lay for the moment, purely owing to
Lloyd this one; but I believe there's more coin in it than
in any amount of crawlers. Now see here "The Sea Cook or
Treasure Island: A Story for Boys." [This was the first
title selected for the book.]
If this don't fetch the kids, why, they have gone rotten
since my day. Will you be surprised to learn that it is
about Buccaneers, that it begins in the Admiral Benbow
public house on the Devon coast, that it's all about a map
and a treasure and a mutiny and a derelict ship and a
current and a fine old Squire Trelawney, (the real Tre.
purged of literature and sin to suit the infant mind,) and
a doctor and another doctor and a sea cook with one leg and
and a sea song with a chorus, "Yo-ho-ho and a Bottle of
Rum," (at the third "ho" you heave at the capstan bars,)
which is a real buccaneer's song, only known to the crew of
the late Capt. Flint, who died of rum at Key West much
regretted?
The first publication of "Treasure Island" was in 1883, and in a
letter to Sidney Colvin in July, 1884, Stevenson writes: "'Treasure
Island' came out of Kingsley's 'At Last,' where I got 'The Dead
Man's Chest.'"
* * * * *
THE UNPUBLISHED LETTER
_New York Times Review of Books_,
It has been my great pleasure and satisfaction to sit with Young E.
Allison of Louisville in business intimacy and friendship for many
years, and to have seen the inception of his "Derelict" in three
verses based on Billy Bones' song of "Fifteen Men on the Dead Man's
Chest" from "Treasure Island." During this intimacy also I have
observed those original three stanzas grow to six and viewed the
adjustment and balance and polish he has given to what I now
consider a masterpiece.
No one who ever read "Treasure Island" with a mind, but feels there
is something lacking in Billy Bones' song. It left a haunting wish
for more and if the book was closed with a single regret it was
because Billy Bones had not completed his weird chant. So it
affected Mr. Allison, a confirmed novel reader and a great admirer
of Stevenson. Henry Waller, collaborating with Mr. Allison in the
production[13] of the "Ogallallas" by the Bostonians along back in
1891, declared he had a theme for that swashbuckling chant and
Allison, who wrote the libretto for the "Ogallallas," agreed to
work it out. That same night with Waller's really brilliant musical
conception in his mind, Mr. Allison wrote what might be considered
the first three verses of the present revision, which were set to
Waller's music, written for a deep baritone, and published by Pond.
Thereafter during the rehearsal of the "Ogallallas" no session was
complete until Eugene Cowles, in his big, rich bass, had sung
Allison's three verses of "Fifteen Men on the Dead Man's Chest" to
Waller's music, as "lagniappe," while cold chills raced up and down
the spines of his hearers--more or less immune to sensations of
that character.
[13] Incubation at that time. Production in 1893.
As I write I have before me a copy of the music, the title page of
which reads as follows: "A Piratical Ballad. Song for Bass or Deep
Baritone. Words by Young E. Allison. Music by Henry Waller. New
York. Published by William A. Pond & Co. 1891."
Later it occurred to Mr. Allison that he had done scant justice to
an idea full of great possibilities, and another verse was added,
and still later another, making five in all, when in a more
polished condition it was submitted to the _Century_ for
publication, and accepted, though later the editor asked to have
the closing lines re-constructed as being a bit too strong for his
audience. Mr. Allison felt that to bring back those drink-swollen
and weighted bodies "wrapp'd in a mains'l tight" from their "sullen
plunge in the sullen swell, ten fathoms deep on the road to hell"
would cut the heart out of the idea--while admitting to the
_Century's_ editor that such a sentiment might not be entirely
fitted for his clientele--and so declined to make the alteration.
About this time Mr. Allison had "Derelict" privately printed for
circulation among friends. I have in my possession his printer's
copy, and the various revisions in his own handwriting--probably a
dozen in all.
Six years after the first verses were written, Mr. Allison decided
to inject a woman into his "Reminiscence of Treasure Island," as he
styles it, which was most adroitly done in the fifth verse--last
written--and in the private copies it is set in Italics as a
delicate intimation that the theme of a woman was foreign to the
main idea which he attempted to carry out just as he believed
Stevenson might have done. There was no woman on Treasure Island
yet she passes here without question.
Shortly after the sixth verse had been added, the editors of the
_Rubric_--a Chicago magazine venture of the late 90's[14]--asked
Mr. Allison for permission to publish the five verses which had
fallen into their hands, and in granting the request he furnished
the later revision in six verses. This was published on eight pages
of the _Rubric_ in two colors, very happily illustrated, I thought,
and was captioned "On Board the Derelict."
[14] Vol. I No. 1, 1901.
It is the fine adjustment, the extreme delicacy, the very
artfulness of the whole poem, I might say, which has led you into
believing it "a rough, unstudied sailor's jingle" and in stating
editorially, "it is not likely however that he [Mr. Allison] wrote
the famous old chanty." Were it not that you hazarded this
speculation I would not feel called upon to recite this history, in
justice to Mr. Allison, who is one of the most honorable, modest
and original men of letters and who would scorn to enter the lists
in an effort to prove that what he had created was his own. Among
those who know him like Henry Watterson, Madison Cawein, James H.
Mulligan, (who was one of Stevenson's friends, present in Samoa
when he died), James Whitcomb Riley, and a host of others he needs
no defense.
Mr. Mason's comment in your issue of October 4, 1914, is a very
fine tribute to the work of a stranger to him and testifies to his
artistic judgment, for a study of this "old chanty" will prove it
to be a work of art, not only for the tremendous lines of which Mr.
Mason speaks, but because it creates the impression of antiquity
while being entirely modern by every rule of versification.
If you take the pains to scan the lines you must soon admit how
subtle and delicate are the alternating measures, prepared
purposely to create the very idea of age and coarseness and
succeeding with every almost matchless line and selected word.
Just a word more. Of course I cannot pretend to say how the version
published in your issue of September 20, 1914, got copied into the
"Old Scrap Book" to which "W. L." refers, but violence to the text
and the meter--which you may determine by reference to the
authentic copy inclosed herewith--would indicate that it had been
"expurgated" for drawing room recital by an ultra-fastidious[15] who
nevertheless recognized its great force.
[15] And non-poetic.
By the way, Mr. Allison wrote "The Passing of Major Kilgore," not
"Major Galbraith," one of the first really good newspaper stories
"from the inside" then written, though since there have been many.
Yours very truly,
C. I. HITCHCOCK
Louisville, October 6, 1914.
YO-HO-HO _and a_ BOTTLE OF RUM
It has not been the purpose of this sketch of a poem's history, with
which has been joined other matters, reminiscent or germane, to enter
into a discussion relative to the origin of chanties, or to attempt to
trace the four lines of Captain Billy Bones' song to any source beyond
their appearance in "Treasure Island." In a more or less extensive,
though desultory, reading of a little of almost everything, the writer
has never stumbled upon any chanty or verse from which the famous
quatrain might have sprung. Nor has he ever met anyone who remembers to
have read or heard of anything of the kind. This includes Allison
himself, an omnivorous reader, a Stevenson admirer and student, a
friend of many of Stevenson's friends, and who, since the appearance of
"Treasure Island," has had hundreds of letters and conversations
bearing on the subject.
While "Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum," as a line, occasionally has since
been used in modern versification, but without any of the Stevenson
flavor and seldom with much poetic or dramatic instinct, all
authorities appear to be agreed that he evolved the quatrain. This
however is not a point at issue here. What seems to be of prime
importance to this narrative though, is that Allison, taking this
quatrain as a starting point, wrote a wholly modern versification in
words and meter so skillfully used as to create not only a vivid
atmosphere of piracy and antiquity, but of unskillfulness and
coarseness. That is the highest expression of art.
Since _The New York Times Book Review_ very unjustly raised a question
of the authorship of "Derelict," it has been my privilege to read the
really remarkable correspondence that has reached Mr. Allison from men
all over the country who have been treasuring newspaper clippings of
perverted versions of the poem out of pure admiration for its classical
lines and the bold portrayal of a grewsome story. These letters have
increased since _The Scoop_ of the Press Club of Chicago printed the
correspondence [See "The Unpublished Letter"] addressed to _The New
York Times Book Review_. _The Scoop_ continued its interesting
discussion of the poem in the issue of October 24, under a caption of
"Yo-ho-ho!" and incorporated a communication from "our Bramleykite
Pilling" on chanties in general, submitting also a criticism of
Allison's sea-faring knowledge of the consistency of mainsails and the
size of hawsers. If anything were needed to prove that "Derelict" is
not "of the sea," this in itself would be sufficient. _The Scoop_
article is worthy of production in toto:
YO-HO-HO!
In an annoying discussion of Young Allison's "Derelict" and the
origin of the chanty beginning "Fifteen men on the Dead Man's
Chest," _The New York Times_ quotes Robert Louis Stevenson as
saying "Treasure Island came out of Kingsley's 'At Last,' where I
got 'The Dead Man's Chest.'" That is interesting, and apparently
authentic, but it has nothing to do with Allison's poem. The
development of that poem, as related by C. I. Hitchcock in _The
Scoop_ two weeks ago, is as clearly established as the similar
process out of which emerged Smith's "Evolution," and is abundantly
attested. Allison's chanty is one of the best, if not the very
best, in its class, and _The Scoop_ is glad to have been given a
chance to so accredit it.
Taking up the subject matter, our Bramleykite Pilling, a retired
mariner now enjoying his otium cum dignitate at the town of Athol
in the state of Massachusetts, writes this letter:
"In the days when sailing ships and sailors were on the
deep, chanties were used with every heave or pull.
"Fifteen or twenty men trailing onto a rope, fitting each
other like spoons, as the sway-back pull induced whatever
was at the other end to give way.
"Nothing ever was broken, as it was seen to that such a
possibility did not exist; hence the command 'Break
something, break something.'
"A chanty contained one verse or line only, the rest
depending on the composition of the man who sang the verse
or line. The pull was always at the accent of the chorus,
as follows:
"'Blow a man down is a blow me down trick.
Blow--Blow--Blow--a man Down.
Blow a man down to the home of old Nick.
Give me some time to blow a man down.'
"The pull being at every other line, there are eight pulls
in the above.
"For a quick pulling chanty we often use this one:
"'Rendso was no sailor--
Rendso, boys, Rendso,
He shipped on board a whaler--
Rendso, boys, Rendso.'
"What happened to Rendso depended on the imagination of the
one who sang the 'coal box'--the line. Here is a heaving
chanty, or slow pull:
"'To South Australia we're bound to go--
Heave away, heave away.
Let the wind blow high or low--
We're bound to South Australia.
We're going home and don't give a damn--
Heave away, heave away.
For the captain, the mate or any other man--
We're bound to South Australia.'
"'Fifteen men on the dead man's chest' never was used as a
chanty. It would require too much bass; but it was used as
a drone, which it is. An abstracted man would use a line,
or may be, the whole verse, or the first line, used as
derision. For illustration:
"When I was last at the Press Club a question pertaining to
the sea came up. One man sought the dictionary. To express
my contempt I repeated the first line. 'We have no use for
the dictionary. To hell with it,' expresses the idea. We
sailors have a language of our own. It is ours, it is up to
us to put you right when the impossible is said. I quote
two such lines:
"'We wrapped 'em all in a mains'l tight
With twice ten turns of the hawser's bight!
"These two lines are part of a poem written by Young
Allison as a continuance of the Billy Bones song in
Treasure Island.
"A mainsail is made of 0, 1 or 2 canvas, which will stand
alone; 28 sheet-iron would do as well.
"A hawser, with us, is anything in the shape of a rope
which is above six inches circumference. You will note that
the bight is used--two parts, or loop. Instead of using the
largest rope on board a ship, the smallest--skysail
bunt-line--would have been more to the point.
"A sailor would get back at me by saying 'Perhaps she
didn't carry skysails.'
"I would reply, 'Suppose the mainsail was as soft as silk
and the hawser as pliable, would you, as a sailor, throw
them away on dead men?'
"A mistaken idea exists that Stevenson wrote the Billy
Bones song and only used one verse in "Treasure Island." He
'quotes' the only verse there is. We of the sea locate the
scene of the verse at Dead Chest Island, half way between
the S. W. & S. E. points of Porto Rico, four and one-half
miles off shore, which was used as a buccaneer rendezvous,
and later as the haven of wreckers and smugglers. It was
first named by the Spanish 'Casa de Muertos'--the Coffin.
"While I knew that Stevenson wrote, I did not know him as a
writer. I knew him as the grandson and son of men who dared
to do, and who achieved in the doing. I also knew him as a
man interested in everything pertaining to the sea.
"In fancy, I can see him gazing off to leeward, and hear
him drone--as of yore--
"'Fifteen men on the dead man's chest.'"
My personal interest in "Derelict" from its earliest stages has led me to
discuss it with many people, some of them A. B.'s, and this is the first
criticism I have ever heard of the technic of the words used to convey the
picture. I do not mean to say that Bramleykite Filling's points are not
well taken, technically, but I do say that qualified sailors, with literary
judgment, have been carried over these delinquencies of technic, if that
expresses it, by the very vividness but simplicity of the picture, which
could not be so were there a false note in either sentiment or portrayal.
Thus for this purpose a mainsail is a piece of jute bagging, if you please,
or ordinary canvas, and a hawser is a flexible rope.
When _The Scoop_ reached my hand with its entertaining and not unjust
criticism, I besought Allison for a few lines of comment to add to my
collection of "Derelict" treasures. In the same old characteristic way
(same old black pencil; same old spongy copy paper) he wrote me the
following note with which this volume closes:
Oct. 26, 1914.
Dear Hitch:
Bramleykite Pilling's comments on "Derelict," from the standpoint
of scientific criticism, seem to me to be beyond any sort of
reproach. He is evidently an actual, real water sailor who learned
his nautics within the smell of bilgewater and the open sea. My own
education as an able seaman was gained from years of youthful deep
study of dime-novel sea yarns by Ned Buntline, Fenimore Cooper,
Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., Billy Bowline, and other masters of the sea in
libraries. I have, however, made two ocean trips from Norfolk to
New York, time 23 hours. On both occasions I went sound asleep at
the end of the first hour and woke up at the end of twenty-third
hour. Under such circumstances I may have missed many important
details of realism. I have also visited often the tomb of that fine
old patriot-pirate and ex-Alderman, Dominique You, in the old
French cemetery at New Orleans. As chief gunner for Jean Lafitte,
he was some pirate; as chief artilleryman for Gen. Andrew Jackson
at the battle of New Orleans, he was some patriot. I feel stronger
in my piracy than in my seamanship. I love criticism--especially of
poetry. If there is a single verse, or, mayhap, one line, of
"Derelict" that will hold, without leaking, anything of a specific
gravity heavier than moonshine, it would surprise me. But it
_seems_ to, when it is adopted as a "real chanty"--and that's the
test, that it "seems."
Y. E. A.
Transcriber's Note: The book has a Pocket with 7 pieces of paper
which are facsimiles noted in the text. The music for _A Piratical
Ballad_ has been transcribed and is available as a _Finale_ .mus
file, a pdf file, and a midi file.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Dead Men's Song, by Champion Ingraham Hitchcock