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Your email address will not be published.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

    Goathouse

    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 be here so...

    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...

    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 Blathering of Teachers

    To succeed, jump as quickly at opportunities  as you do at conclusions. ~Benjamin Franklin             Maybe we are born more to ignore than to listen. I understand too well how easy it is to ignore the blatherings of teachers. I was a master of it once myself, so why...

    Make Something out of Something

    It's hard to make chicken salad out of chicken manure      Dirty hands are a good sign, so hopefully, you got some mental mud on your hands and created some content to work with today.  To a starving man, any food is good food--unless it...

    A Hard Sell

         As a teacher, I am tired of the word blog, probably because the word “blogging” is incredibly limiting and myopic, especially for someone whose teaching is centered around an online curriculum with blogs front and center on my academic table. I sat through a...

    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...

    Chores

    The day sometimes slip away from me, a huge pine half-bucked in the backyard, the kids old tree fort cut into slabs, a ton of coal waiting to be moved in a train of buckets to the bin. Sipping cold water on the back deck, sharpening the dulled teeth of a worn...

    Nurture Passion

    How about we all take the bull by the horns and make this blog thing work! Your job this week is to do something with your blog that is powered by the passion that is in you. Passion is the one thing you have some control over. There are plenty of smarter, more...

    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...

    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...

    The Enigma

    Black Pond is not as deepas it is dark, dammedsome century agobetween ledges of granite and an outcropping of leaning fir, huckleberry, and white pine. For years I have paddled and trolled;swam, fished, sailed and sometimessimply tread water in the night trying to...

    What Are We Afraid Of?

    Good intentions are easily hobbled by inaction. There has always been a murky and muddied No Mans Land in every war where the evil and the righteous trade the moral high ground. This is not the case in Ukraine. Putin’s actions are evil--pure, unmitigated, unprovoked...

    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...

    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...

    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...

    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......

    The Tide

    They are building a world and the plastic is fading: Margaret and Eddie's buckets are split, pouring out the warm Atlantic as they race along the tidal flat, filling pools connected by frantically dug canals. Tommy squats naked and screams in guttural joy at the...

    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...

    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...

    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...

    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...

    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...

    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 —

    Weeds

      Somewhere locked in this choke of weeds spread like a mangy carpet is the hardened vine of Pipo’s Concord Grape he planted in an eager spring three years ago. Gasping for air and sun and water perhaps it has found some way to hide from my flailing hoe and the...

    Joshua Sawyer Podcast

    The Inn

    Every Thursday, for some thirty years, I have been spending this same time each week wrapping up the loose ends of the day before heading down to the inn to play to whomever and whatever shows up. Tonight looks like a fun night: Maroghini will be with me for his last...

    Trawler

    Leave the fog stillness
    of a cold harbor town;
    cup our hands
    in the warm diesel sound—
    leave while the children
    are calmed in their dreams
    by light buoys calling:
    “Don’t play around me.”

    Redefining Literacy

     My life is the poem I could have writ, But I could not both live and utter it ~Henry David Thoreau    The common man goes to an orchard to taste the fruit. The rich man man learns how to plant his own orchard. The poet, however,  grows an even better fruit and gives...

    In Reply To Einstein

    *God casts the die, not the dice. ~Alfred Einstein I am cold down the neck, turtling my head to showers of ice that fall dancing and skidding on skins of crusted snow. I hold my breath when I step, inflating hopes of a weightlessness, and so be undetected
to the play...

    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.

    Eighteen Years

    At midnight I hear the cuckoo clock chiming from it’s perch in a cluttered kitchen locked in cadence with the tower bell gonging this old mill town at midnight to a deeper sleep, like a call to prayer reminding me that this new day, starting in the dark of a hallowed...

    Hallows Lake

    Foreward Thanks for taking a look at this "work in progress. It originally started out as an experimental one-man play. Maybe it still will be. Later I thought of making it into a novel, but it's hard to see it happening as there is (intentionally) no real plot, and...

    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...

    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...

    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?

    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.

    This new spring begs attention

    And shivers its literal timbers. Cold, wet and pleading, Scarred by winter winds And pasty snows, My small field and patch of woods Is now a monument To aging neglect. Shorn limbs and branches Hang high and tangled in the Sugar maples (Widow makers we called them Back...

    Denise

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

    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...

    Contact John Fitzsimmons...and thanks!