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Your email address will not be published.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

A New Beginning

 I guess if there is any constant in my life, it is new beginnings.  This blog--and this website--is another new beginning starting here late on a cold night on my back porch. I've been keeping a blog (in fact several blogs) since the first blogs made their way on to...

Going Google?

When you find yourself in the majority, it's time to join the minority ~Mark Twain I have to admit, Google is pretty impressive. The whole set of features that are offered to the public and to educators for free is pretty astounding: email, document creation and...

A Monday Ramble

There is always a hard shift for me at the end of the summer, and today is that day for me. I miss the freedom of last week: I'd wake in the morning, come out to the deck to write poetry or work on my novel--but now today, I feel like I should be preparing for school,...

Dealing with Ether

Trying to only see what is in front of me my eyes are continually drawn away from this page and the work left to be done— my labored words etched and scratched away like fleeting mosaics in dry sand. I need a windowless cell to work the alchemy that shapes the...

Rainmaker

I loved the rain last night. Last week, in a bow to reality, I reclaimed my gardens and made them into yard. Four of my kids got poison ivy in the process and I (and more "they") got an extra ten feet of width to add to the soccer field--for really that is about the...

Somewhere North of Bangor

Somewhere north of Bangor
on the run from Tennessee.
Lost in back scrub paper land
in section TR-3.
It’s hit him he’s an outlaw
a Georgia cracker’s son,
who killed a man in Nashville
with his daddies favorite gun.
It’s hit him with the loneliness
of wondering where you are
on a long ago railway
stretched between two stars.

Doing What Needs To Be Done

The rain falls;The grass grows:Nothing is done.Nothing is left undone~Buddha        Sometimes you just do what you got to do, and that never changes from the first time you take out the trash as a kid until the time in life where you are taking care of little chores...

Zenmo Yang Ni

I lost the time I hardly knew you,
half-assed calling:
“How you doing?
Laughing at my hanging hay field;
I never knew the time
that tomorrow’d bring,
until it brung to me.

Yuan lai jui shuo: “Zenmoyang ni?”
Xianzai chang shu: “Dou hai keyi”;
Xiexie nimen, dou hen shang ni.
Xiwang wo men dou hen leyi
Dou hen leyi

Out of the Forge: April 13, 2017

In my forty years or so of actively singing and playing folk music and writing songs, I have played together with a remarkably narrow list of musical partners: Rogue, Wally and Barry with camp songs and Hatrack and Seth with literally everything. These last few years...

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...

What’s in a Song

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet. ~Plato         Writing a song is not just an exercise in seeking some kind of future fame. It is...

Let It Snow, Let It Snow…

You can't kill time without wounding eternity. ~Henry David Thoreau       Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...but don't let it totally define your day. Most of us see a snow day as an unexpected vacation day, though really what it is could be called "a day of...

Another Day…

I've been somewhat lax about posting in here of late, but I have been giving myself a bit of a break from writing. In fact, I spent the last month or so just living--and that has been just fine with me. I set a simple goal for myself this summer to get in shape. PJ...

Denise

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

Guns, Me, and Rural America

     Sometimes I start writing without knowing where I stand—unsure of even where I stand. I have to trust some innate wisdom or audacity will cull through the bullshit we are all heir to in what Hamlet laments is “this earthly coil” we are forced to face when we wake...

Creating a Digital Workflow in the Classroom

One Teacher’s Solution To Everything  Years of teaching woodshop at my school has reinforced in me the utility of developing a workflow that works best for the project at hand using the tools and equipment already in the shop. The same can be said of my other life as...

Molting

I am always molting; leaving my hollowed skin in awkward places, scaring people and making them jump. They touch me and think I’m real; then laugh and say things like “What a riot.” I’m tired of this changing of skins. I’d rather stumble on myself and be fooled; and...

The Most Unoriginal Teacher

Yes, that's me. I am a fraudster, thief, and plagiarizer of the worst magnitude. I copy the very styles of classic poets; I steal from Noble Laureate novelists, and I copy words from every and any source I can. And even worse, I steal from myself. If you even dare to...

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...

Ready. Set. Go.

Who forgets to rinse his hair? Me, I guess, for that was the start of my day. I smelled something like coconut oil on my way to school, and then I realized, dang, my hair is still pretty wet. Wet with hair conditioner. And then I get sot school all coconutty smelling...

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...

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 —

Diesel Lullaby

I've been spending a lot of time lately writing sketches of songs—some more complete than others. I have found that it takes time for a song to evolve into its final form, so what I have posted here is more the end of the beginning, not the end. Denise gave me the...

The Shapes of Stories

While I have always been a storyteller of sorts, I am not much of a writer of stories--but I have always been intrigued by the relative simplicity at the core design level of most books and movies. A lot of it is tied to my love for Joseph Campbell's work on the...

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...

A New Hearth

It has been a long time since I wrote a simple old "this is what I am going to do today" post. So this is what I am going to do today: [and trust me, it will have nothing--absolutely nothing--to do with school work:)] Before the true winter settles in, I am going to...

Pruning

These trees have driven so many friends batty, wedged in unstable crotches, embracing hollow, heart-rotted limbs, reaching tentatively, maddened with indecision. From a distance your gestures are very lobsterlike— waving a last embattled claw, as if dueling some...

Busy…

The start of the school year, and I have literally spent every free moment working on what is ostensibly pretty cool stuff, methinks...but it is work in every sense of the word, so I do miss those long summer mornings when  could literally write to my heart and heads...

Know Thyself…

Writing a Metacognition Know Thyself… Explore, Assess, Reflect & Rethink If we don’t learn from what we do, we learn little of real value. If we don’t make the time to explore, reflect and rethink our ways of doing things we will never grow, evolve and reach our...

China Journal: Part Two

II The grass grows. The rain falls Nothing is done. Nothing is left undone ~Buddha   A day can be perfect. I have to believe this. Today was. Is. Is was a day in china. The sun breaking through today after yesterday’s typhoon. Lazy walk to the coffee shop....

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.

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...

Welcome

I, on my side, require of every writer, first or last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and not merely what he has heard of other men's lives; some such account as he would send to his kindred from a distant land... ~Henry David Thoreau, Walden I’ve...

Crows & Swallows Release

There is seldom a red-carpet celebration when a book of poetry is released, so I will keep this a quiet and humble affair. My newest book of poetry, “Crows & Swallows” is now on iBooks, so fresh you can almost smell the ink. My business model is unchanged: It is a...

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...

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...

Close Your Eyes and See

      A lot of things in life fall short of the mark, but thoughtfulness has never let me down. For some forty years I have faithfully kept journals of the wanderings of my mind—most of which is lost in some way or another, but the effect hangs on like a sailor...

Yesterday did not become a poem

Nothing became something else; No thoughts filled my head With wonder or wisdom. Listless sky. Jumbled frames. Fleeting images: Chattering squirrels, Distant rumbling Of rush hour traffic. Today I am more determined, But all that is left Is the promise Of...

A Redemptive Moment

I see the clock ticking towards 7:00. The kids are deep in their weekday world of homework, juggling soccer balls around the house, watching TV, but I am in my “got to rally” and get to the inn mode that happens very Thursday. Tonight I am tired. I’ll admit it, but...

Life Ain’t Hard; Its Just a Waterfall

You say, hey,
who are you to say that you’re the one
to go telling me just where I’m coming from.
You can have your cake
but don’t frost me ‘til I’m done.
I can’t be fixed and I can’t afford to stall;
because life ain’t hard it’s just a waterfall.

Contact John Fitzsimmons...and thanks!