C - The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 4 (of 5) - 266

C

Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 11

All the skippers o Scarsburgh

Sat drinking at the wine;

There fell a rousing them amang,

On an unseally time.

Some there rousd their hawk, their hawk,

And some there rousd their hound,

But Young Allan rousd his comely cog,

As she stood on dry ground.

‘There’s nae a ship in Scarsburgh

Will sail the seas wi mine,

Except it be the Burgess Black,

Or than the smack calld Twine.

‘There’s nae a ship amang you a’

Will sail alang wi me,

But the comely cog o Hecklandhawk,

And Flower o Yermanie,

And the Black Snake o Leve London;

They are a’ gane frae me.’

Out it speaks a little wee boy

Stood by Young Allan’s knee;

‘My master has a coal-carrier

Will take the wind frae thee.

‘She will gae out under the leaf,

Come in under the lee,

And nine times in a winter night

She’ll turn the wind wi thee.’

When they had wagerd them amang

Full fifty tuns o wine,

Besides as mickle gude black silk

As clathe their lemans fine,

When all the rest went to the tows,

All the whole night to stay,

Young Allan he went to his bower,

There with his God to pray.

‘There shall nae man gang to my ship

Till I say mass and dine,

And take my leave o my lady;

Gae to my bonny ship syne.’

Then they saild east on Saturday,

On Sunday sailëd west;

Likewise they sailed on Mononday

Till twelve, when they did rest.

At midnight dark the wind up stark,

And seas began to rout,

Till Allan and his bonny new ship

Gaed three times witherlands about.

‘O,’ sighing says the Young Allan,

‘I fear a deadly storm;

For mony a heaving sinking sea

Strikes sair on my ship’s stern.

‘Where will I get a little wee boy

Will take my helm in hand

Till I gang up to my tapmast

And see for some dry land?’

‘O waken, waken your drunken men,

As they lye drunk wi wine;

For when ye came thro Edinbro town

Ye bought them sheen o ben.

‘There was nae shoe made for my foot,

Nor gluve made for my hand;

But nevertheless, my dear master,

I’ll take your helm in hand

Till ye gang to the tall tapmast

And look for some dry land.

‘And here am I, a little wee boy

Will take your helm in han

Till ye gang up to your tapmast,

But, master, stay not lang.’

‘I cannot see nae day, nae day,

Nor nae meathe can I ken;

But mony a bonny feather-bed

Lyes floating on the faem,

And the comely cog o Normanshore,

She never will gang hame.’

The comely cog o Nicklingame

Came sailing by his hand;

Says, Gae down, gae down, ye gude skipper,

Your ship sails on the sand.

‘Come down, come down, my gude master,

Ye see not what I see;

For thro and thro our comely cog

I see the green haw sea.’

‘Take fifty ells o gude canvas

And wrap the ship a’ round;

And pick her weell, and spare her not,

And make her hale and sound.

‘If ye will sail, my bonny ship,

Till we come to dry land,

For ilka iron nail in you,

Of gowd there shall be ten.’

The ship she listend all the while,

And, hearing of her hire,

She flew as swift threw the saut sea

As sparks do frae the fire.

The first an shore that they came till,

They ca’d it Howdoloot;

Wi drums beating and cannons shouting,

They held our gude ship out.

The next an shore that they came till,

They ca’d it Howdilee;

Wi drums beating and fifes playing,

They bare her to the sea.

The third an shore that they came till,

They ca’d it Howdilin;

Wi drums beating and pipes playing,

They towd our gude ship in.

The sailors walkd upon the shore,

Wi their auld baucheld sheen,

And thanked God and their Lady,

That brought them safe again.

‘For we went out o Scarsburgh

Wi fifty ships and three;

But nane o them came back again

But Young Allan, ye see.’

‘Come down, come down, my little wee boy,

Till I pay you your fee;

I hae but only ae daughter,

And wedded to her ye’se be.’