SOME CLIPPINGS;andA LETTER

SOME CLIPPINGS;andA LETTERThe controversial comments on Allison’s “Fifteen Men on the Dead Man’s Chest,” heretofore mentioned, appeared inThe New York Times Book Reviewof September 20, 1914, and October 4, 1914, while the inquiry that precipitated the discussion was published July 26. The printed matter,verbatim et literatim, and the matter not printed, are subjoined:July 26, 1914.APPEALS TO READERSEDWARD ALDEN.—Can some reader tell me if the verse or chorus of a pirate’s song, which Robert Louis Stevenson recites several times in whole or in part in “Treasure Island,” was original or quoted; and, if there are other verses, where they may be found? The lines as Stevenson gives them are:Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest,Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum;Drink and the devil had done for the rest,Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum.††††September 20, 1914.ANSWERS FROM READERSW. L.—The verse about which Edward Alden inquired in your issue of July 26. and which is quoted in Stevenson’s “Treasure Island,” is the opening stanza of an old song or chantey of West Indian piracy, which is believed to have originated from the wreck of an English buccaneer on a cay in theCaribbean Sea known as “The Dead Man’s Chest.” The cay was so named from its fancied resemblance to the old sailors’ sea chest which held his scanty belongings. The song or chantey was familiar to deep-sea sailors many years ago. The song is copied from a very old scrapbook, in which the author’s name was not given. The verses†† To observe liberties taken with the text, compare these verses with authentic version.are as follows:Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,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!The mate was fixed by the bo’sun’s pikeAn the bo’sun brained with a marlin spike.And the cookie’s throat was marked belikeIt had been clutched by fingers ten,And there they lay, all good dead men,Like break o’ day in a boozin’ ken—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men of a whole ship’s list,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Dead and bedamned and their souls gone whist,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!The skipper lay with his nob in goreWhere the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore,And the scullion he was stabbed times four;And there they lay, and the soggy skiesDripped ceaselessly in upstaring eyes,By murk sunset and by foul sunrise—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men of ’em stiff and stark,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Ten of the crew bore the murder mark,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!’Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead,Or a gaping hole in a battered head,And the scuppers’ glut of a rotting red;And there they lay, ay, damn my eyes,Their lookouts clapped on Paradise,Their souls gone just the contrawise—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men of ’em good and true,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Every man Jack could a’ sailed with Old Pew,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!There was chest on chest of Spanish goldAnd a ton of plate in the middle hold,And the cabin’s riot of loot untold—And there they lay that had took the plum,With sightless eyes and with lips struck dumb,And we shared all by rule o’ thumb—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!More was seen through the stern light’s screen,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Chartings undoubt where a woman had been,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!A flimsy shift on a bunker cotWith a dirk slit sheer through the bosom spotAnd the lace stiff dry in a purplish rot—Or was she wench or shuddering maid,She dared the knife and she took the blade—Faith, there was stuff for a plucky Jade!Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,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 tightWith twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight,And we heaved ’em over and out of sightWith 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!††††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 recallsStevenson’sstirring 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 onthe 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” ofThe 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 YoungeE. 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 thisone; 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 LETTERNew 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†† Incubation at that time. Production in 1893.of the “Ogallallas” by the Bostonians along back in 1891, declared he had a theme for that swashbuckling chant and Allison, whowrote 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.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 theCenturyfor 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 theCentury’seditor 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 theRubric—a Chicago magazine venture of the late 90’s†† Vol. I No. 1, 1901.—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 theRubricin two colors, very happily illustrated, I thought, and was captioned “On Board the Derelict.”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, unstudiedsailor’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†† And non-poetic.who nevertheless recognized its great force.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. HitchcockLouisville, October 6, 1914.

The controversial comments on Allison’s “Fifteen Men on the Dead Man’s Chest,” heretofore mentioned, appeared inThe New York Times Book Reviewof September 20, 1914, and October 4, 1914, while the inquiry that precipitated the discussion was published July 26. The printed matter,verbatim et literatim, and the matter not printed, are subjoined:

July 26, 1914.

APPEALS TO READERSEDWARD ALDEN.—Can some reader tell me if the verse or chorus of a pirate’s song, which Robert Louis Stevenson recites several times in whole or in part in “Treasure Island,” was original or quoted; and, if there are other verses, where they may be found? The lines as Stevenson gives them are:Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest,Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum;Drink and the devil had done for the rest,Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum.

APPEALS TO READERS

EDWARD ALDEN.—Can some reader tell me if the verse or chorus of a pirate’s song, which Robert Louis Stevenson recites several times in whole or in part in “Treasure Island,” was original or quoted; and, if there are other verses, where they may be found? The lines as Stevenson gives them are:

Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest,Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum;Drink and the devil had done for the rest,Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum.

Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest,

Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum;

Drink and the devil had done for the rest,

Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum.

††††

September 20, 1914.

ANSWERS FROM READERSW. L.—The verse about which Edward Alden inquired in your issue of July 26. and which is quoted in Stevenson’s “Treasure Island,” is the opening stanza of an old song or chantey of West Indian piracy, which is believed to have originated from the wreck of an English buccaneer on a cay in theCaribbean Sea known as “The Dead Man’s Chest.” The cay was so named from its fancied resemblance to the old sailors’ sea chest which held his scanty belongings. The song or chantey was familiar to deep-sea sailors many years ago. The song is copied from a very old scrapbook, in which the author’s name was not given. The verses†† To observe liberties taken with the text, compare these verses with authentic version.are as follows:Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,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!The mate was fixed by the bo’sun’s pikeAn the bo’sun brained with a marlin spike.And the cookie’s throat was marked belikeIt had been clutched by fingers ten,And there they lay, all good dead men,Like break o’ day in a boozin’ ken—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men of a whole ship’s list,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Dead and bedamned and their souls gone whist,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!The skipper lay with his nob in goreWhere the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore,And the scullion he was stabbed times four;And there they lay, and the soggy skiesDripped ceaselessly in upstaring eyes,By murk sunset and by foul sunrise—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men of ’em stiff and stark,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Ten of the crew bore the murder mark,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!’Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead,Or a gaping hole in a battered head,And the scuppers’ glut of a rotting red;And there they lay, ay, damn my eyes,Their lookouts clapped on Paradise,Their souls gone just the contrawise—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men of ’em good and true,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Every man Jack could a’ sailed with Old Pew,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!There was chest on chest of Spanish goldAnd a ton of plate in the middle hold,And the cabin’s riot of loot untold—And there they lay that had took the plum,With sightless eyes and with lips struck dumb,And we shared all by rule o’ thumb—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!More was seen through the stern light’s screen,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Chartings undoubt where a woman had been,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!A flimsy shift on a bunker cotWith a dirk slit sheer through the bosom spotAnd the lace stiff dry in a purplish rot—Or was she wench or shuddering maid,She dared the knife and she took the blade—Faith, there was stuff for a plucky Jade!Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,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 tightWith twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight,And we heaved ’em over and out of sightWith 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!

ANSWERS FROM READERS

W. L.—The verse about which Edward Alden inquired in your issue of July 26. and which is quoted in Stevenson’s “Treasure Island,” is the opening stanza of an old song or chantey of West Indian piracy, which is believed to have originated from the wreck of an English buccaneer on a cay in theCaribbean Sea known as “The Dead Man’s Chest.” The cay was so named from its fancied resemblance to the old sailors’ sea chest which held his scanty belongings. The song or chantey was familiar to deep-sea sailors many years ago. The song is copied from a very old scrapbook, in which the author’s name was not given. The verses†† To observe liberties taken with the text, compare these verses with authentic version.are as follows:

Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,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!The mate was fixed by the bo’sun’s pikeAn the bo’sun brained with a marlin spike.And the cookie’s throat was marked belikeIt had been clutched by fingers ten,And there they lay, all good dead men,Like break o’ day in a boozin’ ken—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men of a whole ship’s list,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Dead and bedamned and their souls gone whist,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!The skipper lay with his nob in goreWhere the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore,And the scullion he was stabbed times four;And there they lay, and the soggy skiesDripped ceaselessly in upstaring eyes,By murk sunset and by foul sunrise—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men of ’em stiff and stark,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Ten of the crew bore the murder mark,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!’Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead,Or a gaping hole in a battered head,And the scuppers’ glut of a rotting red;And there they lay, ay, damn my eyes,Their lookouts clapped on Paradise,Their souls gone just the contrawise—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men of ’em good and true,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Every man Jack could a’ sailed with Old Pew,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!There was chest on chest of Spanish goldAnd a ton of plate in the middle hold,And the cabin’s riot of loot untold—And there they lay that had took the plum,With sightless eyes and with lips struck dumb,And we shared all by rule o’ thumb—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!More was seen through the stern light’s screen,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Chartings undoubt where a woman had been,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!A flimsy shift on a bunker cotWith a dirk slit sheer through the bosom spotAnd the lace stiff dry in a purplish rot—Or was she wench or shuddering maid,She dared the knife and she took the blade—Faith, there was stuff for a plucky Jade!Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,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 tightWith twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight,And we heaved ’em over and out of sightWith 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!

Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,

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!

The mate was fixed by the bo’sun’s pike

An the bo’sun brained with a marlin spike.

And the cookie’s throat was marked belike

It had been clutched by fingers ten,

And there they lay, all good dead men,

Like break o’ day in a boozin’ ken—

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of a whole ship’s list,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Dead and bedamned and their souls gone whist,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!The skipper lay with his nob in goreWhere the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore,And the scullion he was stabbed times four;And there they lay, and the soggy skiesDripped ceaselessly in upstaring eyes,By murk sunset and by foul sunrise—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of a whole ship’s list,

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Dead and bedamned and their souls gone whist,

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

The skipper lay with his nob in gore

Where the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore,

And the scullion he was stabbed times four;

And there they lay, and the soggy skies

Dripped ceaselessly in upstaring eyes,

By murk sunset and by foul sunrise—

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of ’em stiff and stark,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Ten of the crew bore the murder mark,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!’Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead,Or a gaping hole in a battered head,And the scuppers’ glut of a rotting red;And there they lay, ay, damn my eyes,Their lookouts clapped on Paradise,Their souls gone just the contrawise—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of ’em stiff and stark,

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Ten of the crew bore the murder mark,

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

’Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead,

Or a gaping hole in a battered head,

And the scuppers’ glut of a rotting red;

And there they lay, ay, damn my eyes,

Their lookouts clapped on Paradise,

Their souls gone just the contrawise—

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of ’em good and true,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Every man Jack could a’ sailed with Old Pew,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!There was chest on chest of Spanish goldAnd a ton of plate in the middle hold,And the cabin’s riot of loot untold—And there they lay that had took the plum,With sightless eyes and with lips struck dumb,And we shared all by rule o’ thumb—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of ’em good and true,

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Every man Jack could a’ sailed with Old Pew,

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

There was chest on chest of Spanish gold

And a ton of plate in the middle hold,

And the cabin’s riot of loot untold—

And there they lay that had took the plum,

With sightless eyes and with lips struck dumb,

And we shared all by rule o’ thumb—

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

More was seen through the stern light’s screen,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Chartings undoubt where a woman had been,Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!A flimsy shift on a bunker cotWith a dirk slit sheer through the bosom spotAnd the lace stiff dry in a purplish rot—Or was she wench or shuddering maid,She dared the knife and she took the blade—Faith, there was stuff for a plucky Jade!Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

More was seen through the stern light’s screen,

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Chartings undoubt where a woman had been,

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

A flimsy shift on a bunker cot

With a dirk slit sheer through the bosom spot

And the lace stiff dry in a purplish rot—

Or was she wench or shuddering maid,

She dared the knife and she took the blade—

Faith, there was stuff for a plucky Jade!

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,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 tightWith twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight,And we heaved ’em over and out of sightWith 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!

Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,

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!

††††

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 recallsStevenson’sstirring 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 onthe 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” ofThe 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.

“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 onthe 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” ofThe 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 YoungeE. 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 thisone; 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.’”

“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 YoungeE. 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 thisone; 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?

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 LETTERNew 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†† Incubation at that time. Production in 1893.of the “Ogallallas” by the Bostonians along back in 1891, declared he had a theme for that swashbuckling chant and Allison, whowrote 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.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 theCenturyfor 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 theCentury’seditor 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 theRubric—a Chicago magazine venture of the late 90’s†† Vol. I No. 1, 1901.—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 theRubricin two colors, very happily illustrated, I thought, and was captioned “On Board the Derelict.”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, unstudiedsailor’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†† And non-poetic.who nevertheless recognized its great force.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. HitchcockLouisville, October 6, 1914.

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†† Incubation at that time. Production in 1893.of the “Ogallallas” by the Bostonians along back in 1891, declared he had a theme for that swashbuckling chant and Allison, whowrote 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.

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 theCenturyfor 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 theCentury’seditor 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 theRubric—a Chicago magazine venture of the late 90’s†† Vol. I No. 1, 1901.—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 theRubricin two colors, very happily illustrated, I thought, and was captioned “On Board the Derelict.”

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, unstudiedsailor’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†† And non-poetic.who nevertheless recognized its great force.

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-HOand aBOTTLE OF RUMIt 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.SinceThe New York Times Book Reviewvery 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 sinceThe Scoopof the Press Club of Chicago printed the correspondence [See “The Unpublished Letter”] addressed toThe New York Times Book Review.The Scoopcontinued 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 Scooparticle 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 Timesquotes 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 inThe Scooptwo 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, andThe Scoopis 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 tightWith 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.WhenThe Scoopreached 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 itseemsto, when it is adopted as a “real chanty”—and that’s the test, that it “seems.”Y. E. A.

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.

SinceThe New York Times Book Reviewvery 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 sinceThe Scoopof the Press Club of Chicago printed the correspondence [See “The Unpublished Letter”] addressed toThe New York Times Book Review.The Scoopcontinued 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 Scooparticle 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 Timesquotes 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 inThe Scooptwo 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, andThe Scoopis 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 tightWith 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.’”

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 Timesquotes 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 inThe Scooptwo 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, andThe Scoopis 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 tightWith 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.’”

“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.’

“‘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.’

“‘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.’

“‘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 tightWith twice ten turns of the hawser’s bight!

“‘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.

WhenThe Scoopreached 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 itseemsto, when it is adopted as a “real chanty”—and that’s the test, that it “seems.”Y. E. A.

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 itseemsto, when it is adopted as a “real chanty”—and that’s the test, that it “seems.”

Y. E. A.

The PocketHandwritten edits of version to be printed in 'Rubric'Handwritten version of the lyric to 'A Piratical Ballad' (originally, 'A Ballad of Dead Men')Handwritten versions of the stanza with the woman in it.Another version of the stanza with the woman in itFirst page of the (handwritten) letter that closes the volumeSecond page of the (handwritten) letter that closes the volumeArticle reviewing this book, with note by Hitchcock saying it is 'for 'Pocket''

Transcriber’s NotesThe music forA Piratical Balladhas been transcribed into aFinalemusic file (.mus file), a.pdf file, and a.midi file.The chapter title “The Pocket” was added by the transcriber.

The music forA Piratical Balladhas been transcribed into aFinalemusic file (.mus file), a.pdf file, and a.midi file.

The chapter title “The Pocket” was added by the transcriber.

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