Songs of the Sea & Fo’castle

Coast of High Barbary

Coast of High Barbary

by John Fitzsimmons | The American Folk Experience

~Traditional

There were two lofty ships that from old England came,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
One was the Prince o’ Luther and the other Prince o’ Wales,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.

“Aloft there, aloft,” our jolly bosun cried,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
“Look ahead and look astern, a-weather and a-loo,
Look down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

“Oh there’s naught upon the stern and there’s naught upon the lee,”
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
“But there’s a lofty ship to wind’ard and she’s sailing fast and free,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

“Oh hail ‘er, oh hail ‘er,” our gallant captain cried,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
“Are you a man-o’-war or a privateer,” says ‘e,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.

“Oh I’m not a man-of-war, nor a privateer,” says ‘e,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
“But I’m a salt-sea pirate, a-looking for my fee
Looking down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

So ’twas broadside and broadside, as hour on hour we lay,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
Until the Prince o’ Luther shot the pirate’s mast away,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

“Oh quarter! Oh quarter!” the pirate then did cry,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
The quarter that we gave them, we sunk ’em in the sea,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

And oh, it was a cruel sight and grieved us full sore,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
To see ’em all a-drowning as they tried to swim ashore,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

If you have any more information to share about this song or helpful links, please post as a comment. Thanks for stopping by the site! ~John Fitz

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

I am indebted to the many friends who share my love of traditional songs and to the many scholars whose works are too many to include here. I am also incredibly grateful to the collector’s curators and collators of Wikipedia, Mudcat.org, MainlyNorfolk.info, and TheContemplator.com for their wise, thorough and informative contributions to the study of folk music. 

I share their research on my site with humility, thanks, and gratitude. Please cite their work accordingly with your own research. If you have any research or sites you would like to share on this site, please post in the comment box.  Thanks!

Edit links

The "Coast of High Barbary" is a traditional song (Roud 134) which was popular among British and American sailors. It is most frequently sung as a ballad but can also be a sea shanty. It tells of a sailing ship that came across a pirate ship off the Barbary Coast and defeated the pirates, who were left to drown.

An earlier version of the ballad is found in the Stationers’ Register for January 14, 1595 and tells the story of two merchant ships, the George Aloe and the Sweepstake, both sailing to Safee. While the George Aloe was resting at anchor, the Sweepstake sailed on, but a French ship attacked the Sweepstake and threw the crew overboard. The George Aloe gave chase and defeated the French ship, whose crew were shown no mercy because of the fate of the crew of the Sweepstake.

The most common lyrics may refer to the problems European and North American traders had with the North African pirates in the second half of the 18th century and the early 19th century, which led to the Barbary Wars.

English version

American version

Recordings


Source: Mainly Norfolk

(High) Barbaree

Roud 134 ; Child 285 ; Laws K33 ; G/D 1:38 ; Ballad Index C285 ; trad.]High Barbary was the romantic name of the Rif Coast of North Africa. It was the home of the Barbary pirates or Barbary corsairs who preyed on European shipping to capture Christian slaves from the 16th century up to 1830.

Bob Robert sang High Barbaree in a BBC archive recording made by Peter Kennedy that can be found on the 1955 anthology Folk Song Today. and on the 1994 compilation CD Sea Songs and Shanties. A later recording made in Bob Roberts’ cottage on the Isle of Wight was published in 1981 on his Solent album Breeze for a Bargeman. The CD notes commented:

This classic story of pirate encounter was published by Ashton in 1891, though it is likely to have been extant before then, and has also been found in versions on the Eastern seaboard of the United States.

Peter Bellamy recorded Barbaree in 1979 for his Topic LP Both Sides Then. He accompanied himself on concertina and Dave Swarbrick played fiddle. According to the sleeve notes, this version is

A hybrid of Bob Robert’s East Anglian version and a Carolina variant collected by the late Frank Warner.

Brian Peters and Gordon Tyrall sang High Barbary, “found in a book of American sailors’ songs published in the 1920s”, in 2000 on their CD The Moving Moon.

Joseph Arthur sang Coast of High Barbary in 2006 on the theme album Rogue’s Gallery: Pirate Ballads, Sea Songs & Chanteys.

Jon Boden sang High Barbaree with his brother Tom as a bonus track of the September 16, 2010 entry of his project A Folk Song a Day.

Chris Sarjeant learned Coast of Barbary from Peter Bellamy’s album and sang it in 2012 on his CD Heirlooms.

Lyrics

Bob Roberts sings High Barbaree

There were two lofty ships that from old England came,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
One was the Prince o’ Luther and the other Prince o’ Wales,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.

“Aloft there, aloft,” our jolly bosun cried,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
“Look ahead and look astern, a-weather and a-loo,
Look down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

“Oh there’s naught upon the stern and there’s naught upon the lee,”
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
“But there’s a lofty ship to wind’ard and she’s sailing fast and free,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

“Oh hail ‘er, oh hail ‘er,” our gallant captain cried,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
“Are you a man-o’-war or a privateer,” says ‘e,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.

“Oh I’m not a man-of-war, nor a privateer,” says ‘e,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
“But I’m a salt-sea pirate, a-looking for my fee
Looking down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

So ’twas broadside and broadside, as hour on hour we lay,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
Until the Prince o’ Luther shot the pirate’s mast away,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

“Oh quarter! Oh quarter!” the pirate then did cry,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
The quarter that we gave them, we sunk ’em in the sea,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

And oh, it was a cruel sight and grieved us full sore,
Blow high, blow low, and so a-sailed we.
To see ’em all a-drowning as they tried to swim ashore,
Sailing down along the coast of High Barbaree.”

Peter Bellamy sings Barbaree

Now there was two jolly ships from out of England came,
Blow high, blow low, and so sail we.
One she was the Queen of Russia and the other Prince of Wales,
Cruising down along the coast of Barbaree.

“Step aloft, step aloft,” then our jolly bosun cried,
Blow high, blow low, and so sail we.
“Look ahead and look astern, look aweather, look alee,
And look down along the coast of Barbaree.”

“Well, there is no ship astern and there is no ship alee,”
Blow high, blow low, and so sail we.
“But there’s a lofty ship to wind’ard, she’s a-sailing fast and free,
She’s a-sailing down along the coast of Barbaree.”

“Oh hail ‘er! Oh, hail ‘er!” then our jolly captain cried,
Blow high, blow low, and so sail we.
“Oh, youse a man-o’-war or a privateer,” says he,
“A-cruising down along the coast of Barbaree?”

“I’m not no man-of-war, nor a privateer,” says he,
Blow high, blow low, and so sail we.
But I’m a salt-sea pirate, I’m a-seeking for me fee,
“I’m a-seeking down along the coast of Barbaree!”

So broadside to broadside, a long hour we lay,
Blow high, blow low, and so sail we.
Till at length the Queen of Russia blew the pirate’s mast away,
Cruising down along the coast of Barbaree.

And “For quarters! For quarters!” the jolly pirate cried,
Blow high, blow low, and so sail we.
“Oh, the quarter I will give you, I will sink you in the tide,
I will sink you down along the coast of Barbaree.”

So we tied them up by twos and we tied them up by threes,
Blow high, blow low, and so sail we.
Yes, we tied them up by dozens and we chucked them in the sea,
Yes, we drowned them down along the coast of Barbaree.

Acknowledgements

I found the lyrics in the Mudcat Café thread Lyr Req: Peter Bellamy’s Barbaree. See also Lyr Add: The Coasts of Barbary.

~By Under the Roger…

 

Performances, Workshops, Resources & Recordings

The American Folk Experience is dedicated to collecting and curating the most enduring songs from our musical heritage.  Every performance and workshop is a celebration and exploration of the timeless songs and stories that have shaped and formed the musical history of America. John Fitzsimmons has been singing and performing these gems of the past for the past forty years, and he brings a folksy warmth, humor and massive repertoire of songs to any occasion. 

Festivals & Celebrations

Coffeehouses

School Assemblies

Library Presentations

Songwriting Workshops

Artist in Residence

House Concerts

Pub Singing

Irish & Celtic Performances

Poetry Readings

Campfires

Music Lessons

Senior Centers

Voiceovers & Recording

“Beneath the friendly charisma is the heart of a purist gently leading us from the songs of our lives to the timeless traditional songs he knows so well…”

 

Globe Magazine

Join Fitz at The Colonial Inn

“The Nobel Laureate of New England Pub Music…”

Scott Alaric

Adventures in the Modern Folk Underground

On the Green, in Concord, MA Every Thursday Night for over thirty years…

“A Song Singing, Word Slinging, Story Swapping, Ballad Mongering, Folksinger, Teacher, & Poet…”

Theo Rogue

Songcatcher Rag

Fitz’s Recordings

& Writings

Songs, poems, essays, reflections and ramblings of a folksinger, traveler, teacher, poet and thinker…

Download for free from the iTunes Bookstore

“A Master of Folk…”

The Boston Globe

Fitz’s now classic recording of original songs and poetry…

Download from the iTunes Music Store

“A Masterful weaver of song whose deep, resonant voice rivals the best of his genre…”

Spirit of Change Magazine

<a href="https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/album/campfire-the-greatest-camp-songs-of-all-time/id1032645681?mt=1&app=music" style="display:inline-block;overflow:hidden;background:url(//linkmaker.itunes.apple.com/assets/shared/badges/en-us/music-lrg.svg) no-repeat;width:110px;height:40px;background-size:contain;"></a>

“2003: Best Children’s Music Recording of the Year…”

Boston Parent's Paper

Fitz & The Salty Dawgs Amazing music, good times and good friends…

Listen here

TheCraftedWord.org

Writing help

when you need it…

“When the eyes rest on the soul…that’s Fitzy…”

Lenny Megliola

WEEI Radio

Moby Dick: Chapters 42-51

A literary reflection to my students... The lowering for whales, the appearance of Fedallah's crew, the vivid descriptions of the first chase in a sudden and unrelenting gale, the fatalistic joy of resigning oneself to fate, the awesome poetic intensity of Melville's...

Redemption

Finally, the tall green pines standing sentinel around this cold and black New Hampshire pond are framed in a sky of blue. After a month of steady rains, foggy nights, and misty days, I am reborn into a newly created world—a world that finally answered my prayers: no...

Fenn Speaks…

I am You, and You are me... Give a damn & figure it out        I feel like one of my students: it’s the night before my big presentation at All-school-meeting, and I still don’t know what I am going to talk about. I just know I am supposed to talk about me......

Dallas: 7/7/2016

I woke up this morning almost too fearful to read the news. I stayed up late into the night just watching for the breaking stories and updates. Now, I am simplyconfused about how to act. I feel incredibly small and pointless, unsure of where I stand and how to move...

The Nagging Thing

Not many more nights like this, warm enough to sit outside on the back porch. The kids and Denise long asleep. Usually, during the school year, this is my "time" to catch up on schoolwork--grading, posting the assignments for the week and playing the general catchup...

There is in an easiness

When I begin to think of myself. My girded shell squeezing Oysters in a jar; My oily viscera Jammed and joggled Into impossible places. My pancreas Is never where it should be; My esophagus cut cleanly Swirls in a diaspora. My tongue is a trapped In a tangle of...

Mum…

Very jealous today of all the folks I see spending time with their respective moms--and sad for those who can't and for those whose wives were taken from their families too early in life... This is my remmebrance of my "mum" who died several years ago.       I ran...

What a Picture Tells

"Zou Ma Guan Hua" You can't ride a horse and smell the flowers ~Chinese Proverb Sometimes I love just browsing through old folders of pictures of my kids when they were just kids in every sense of the word. Just seeing the pictures is a visceral experience for me as I...

Paris: 11/13/15

It is a sad day for humanity. Another sad day on top of many others happening every day--many in places we hear about only obliquley and sometimes not at all. Paris is that much closer to home for most of us here and in Europe, but freedom and tolerance has to...

All You Need is Love

    The day grew warm today, as did my mood. I did a couple of shows at my school’s diversity day. It was good to see girls there and the obvious racial differences. It was comforting to see a sea of color with a smattering of white instead of the other way around. My...

Denise

There is something about coming hometo this empty house, yesterday'sheavy downpours scouringclean the alreadyweathered deckwhere I sitwishing for,wanting,you.

Life Outside the Curriculum

“My teachers could have written with Jesse James for all time they stole from us...” ~Richard Brautigan, “Trout Fishing in America”        My classroom is often a bit of a mess—a mass of sprawled bodies scattered around like casualties of battle, ensconced in various...

Finally…

Just closed the lid, so to speak, on what seems to be weeks of school-related paperwork. I am excited to go to my classes tomorrow with only those classes on my mind--not the letters home to parents, the secondary school recs, the grades and comments to homeroom...

The Mystery in the Cradle

This picture is from Christmas eleven years ago when Tommy was only two weeks old, and now all of them—and Gio and Pipo--are playing charades or some such game in the dining room, shouting and laughing at each other's miscues and fortifying another enduring memory...

The Threshing

I trace her charging through the cornfield shaking the timbers of the ready crop startling up the blackbirds, and surprisingly, a jay. It’s the jay who startles me—
who with two quick pulls wrests itself from the transient green, screaming back from its familiar scrub...

Waiting for a Poem

  It’s not like a poem to come curl by my feet on this morning too beautiful to describe, though I am looking and listening and waiting: A rooster crows above the low hum of morning traffic; the trash truck spills air from brakes and rattles empties into bins; my...

The Old Tote Road

I clabber down the old tote road towards the red pine forest, leaning on my staff, skirting boulder-strewn ruts and small gullies carved out by two days of heavy rain. It is only a mile or so from our cabin, still, my wife makes me wear a pouch with an iPhone and an...

No Dad To Come Home To

Rain’s falling outside of Boston—
Thank God I’m not working tonight.
I’ve got six of my own,
And a stepdaughter at home,
And a momma keeping things right.
I wonder if they’re at the table
With their puzzles, their papers and pens?
When I get off the highway
And pull in that driveway,
Will they run to the window again?

Writing Iambic Dimeter Poetry

I am sitting here realizing how hard it is to ask you--a bunch of fifteen-year-old boys--to write iambic dimeter poetry, a form of poetry that is more or less ignored nowadays. I (literally) played around for a couple of hours penning these poems, which are at least...

Kampuchea

I stutter for normality across the river from black men fishing for kibbers and horned pout. Barefoot children rounded bellies curled navels stalk the turtle sunning on a log. lonely in the field grass lonely on the curbstones I stutter for normality. Not a mother...

Thinking of My Sister

When Cool Was Really Cool  Life is not counted by the amount of breaths we take,  but of the moments that leave us breathless. ~Unknown             We were coming home from church one morning and Jimmy Glennon pulled up beside us as we approached the Sudbury road...

Goathouse

Goat house In reaching for the scythe I’m reminded of the whetstone and the few quick strokes by which it was tested-- the hardness of hot August; the burning of ticks off dog backs. It’s winter now in this garage made barn, and the animals seem only curious that I’d...

A Priori

How do I know what I know? The sharp angles of this simple cottage perfected  in every board sawn, shingle split and beam hewn into place goes together placed, splined, slid together, bound more by intuition than knowing.

If you don’t stand, you cower…

     Maybe it is time to be less forgiving. I have rarely agreed with our president, but I held on to the shreds of truth that shore up his arguments: we can’t welcome every immigrant who makes it to our border; we cannot bow to the audacity of corrupt governments in...

The Snow

has dropped a seamlessness before the plows and children can patch it back to a jagged and arbitrary quilting putting borders to design and impulse. I imagine myself falling everywhere softly, whispering, I am here, and I am here.

Your Haiku…

I have had a go0d read so far reading your haiku. I have a couple of thoughts... I never quite know how to teach how to use specific imagery.  When I say "specific" maybe I "real." I--and every reader--wants to "see" what you are seeing. avoid anything generic that...

Superman

There’s a little blonde boy in a superman cape
Racing around the back yard;
Sayin’, “Daddy don’t you know I can fly to the moon;
I’m gonna bring you back some stars.
And after that I’m gonna save the world”
Cause I’m superman today.”
I scoop that boy right into my arms,
And this is what I say:

You don’t need a cape to be a hero
You’ve got all the special powers that you need
Your smile’s enough to save the world from evil
And you’ll always be superman to me

Many Miles To Go

I see it in your eyes
and in the ways you try to smile;
in the ways you whisper—I don’t know—
and put it all off for a while;
then you keep on keeping on
in the only way you know:
you’re scared of where you’re going
and who’ll catch you down below.

The Storm of Fallibility

       One good cigar is better than two bad cigars, or so it seems right now. It is a beautiful and stormy night--pouring rain and howling wind, and I thought a good smoke would be a fitting end to a busy and over-booked week. As it goes, I bought a couple of cheap...

Essex Bay

This house makes funny noises
When the wind begins to blow.
I should have held on and never let you go.
The wind blew loose the drainpipe.
You can hear the melting snow.
I’ll fix it in the morning when I go.
I’ll fix it in the morning when I go.

Quit Your Whining

Anything worth succeeding in is worth failing in~Ben Franklin     "Quit your whining and complaining" is probably a clause that can easily be translated into every language in every culture on earth, for, from what I know and have seen in the world, bitching about...

How do I know

what I know? The sharp angles of this simple cottage perfected in every board sawn, shingle split and beam hewn into place goes together placed, splined, slid together, bound more by intuition than knowing.

China Journal: Part Three

III My teachers could have ridden with Jesse James For all the time they stole from me... ~Richard Brautigan, Trout Fishing in America      Today it was a temple built into the mountainside west of West Lake. Mr. Toe drove us out there. In most ways I just follow Rob...

The Gift Unclaimed

I have an old lobster buoy Hanging dully from A wrought-iron basket hook— A rough cutaway Filled with suet, Clabbered in wire mesh. . I had imagined chickadees Squabbling with angry jays And occasional sparrows, finches— Maybe even cedar waxwings tired of scrounging...

Metamorphoses

It’s something I‘ve hardly ever thought of:
this simple and rattling old diesel
has always gotten me there and then some;
and so at first I think this sputtering
is just some clog, and easily explained:
some bad fuel maybe, from the new Exxon,
or just shortsightedness on maintenance.
I’ve always driven in the red before,
and these have all been straight highway miles —

Marriage & Magnanimity

If we want to have the freedom to marry whom we want to marry, why is it so important that the state (government) recognise that marriage? Is it simply the expediency of dispensing the entitlements of a marriage certificate: tax benefits, employment benefits, or the...

The Fisher

To cast far is to cast well. I’ve always believed that the biggest fish are just beyond my range and lie in dark water I could never swim to. But experience is the wisdom that has me now casting closer to shore, nearest the reeds and overgrowth — a subtleness geared...

Ginny

I always had in my mind a song about a woman named Ginny who lives (or lived) on an island off the coast of Maine. I want her to somehow represent someone who is willing to wait for something to return to her. What that something is I am not really sure. I was hoping...

Canobie lake

Going to Canobie Lake is always the turning point of the year for me. It is like some primal signal that It is time to turn away from the school year and towards the future.  Obviously, it is my hope that you learned some useful skills this year, but, more...

You Are All a Bunch of Punks

Poetry without form is like tennis without a net. ~Robert Frost       Free verse poetry is not, as many assume, poetry without rules. It is a measured and thoughtful crafting of an idea into lines, spaces, and breaks intentionally and willfully crafted to heighten and...

Contact John Fitzsimmons...and thanks!