C. Fox Smith 1926
“Cicely Fox Smith was an English poet known for writing maritime poetry. Smith did not follow the usual route of the minimum education and early marriage which was expected of young ladies in the Victorian era. She relished her education at Manchester’s High School for Girls and allowed herself to wholeheartedly become immersed in her writing career.” William Pint & Felicia Gale in 1997 adapted a tune they heard from Bob Zentz into the minor setting Alex Sturbaum uses below.
Alex Sturbaum: https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/tryphinas-extra-hand
https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/tryphinas-extra-hand
On the clipper ship Tryphina Swinging northward from the line With the trade winds blowing steady And her flying kites ashine Five and sixty days from Angier With her freight of Foochow teas There a sailor man lay dying And the words he spoke were these: Many years I’ve sailed this packet And I’ve come to like her well And I’ve not much hope of heaven And I’ve not much use for hell But if be it as they’ll let me By the great hookblock I swear When the great Tryphina wants me Dead as living I’ll be there There’ll be one more at the haliards There’ll be one more on the yard Fisting up them thundering courses When they’re frosted good and hard One more tallyin’ at the forebrace At the waist neck deep in foam One more hand to sweat the tops’l’s up And sheet t’ga’ns’l’s homeÿ It was off the Western islands When he smelled the land he died And they laid a back the main yard And they tossed him overside Then they squared their sheets for England Pulley haulingwith a will But for all they thought they’d left him He sailed aboard her still And the chaps as was his shipmates Went the way as all chaps go and the folks as was her owners Sold the old ship long ago But whoever owned or sold her And whoever went or came The Tryphina’s extra hand He sailed aboard her just the same And he never signed no articles He never drawed no pay He never scoffed no vittles But by night as well as day Though you’d never know his coming And you’d never see him go He’d be always somewheres handy When it’s coming on a blow And he’d stand by wheel at lookout And you’d kind of feel him near Kind of see him and not see him Kind of hear him and not hear And the funny thing about it Was you somehow couldn’t swear But you’d know it it sure as shootin’ When the extra hand was there Chorus And in port when all the chaps had gone Ashore to take their ease And left the ship as lonely And as quiet as you please Not a blessed soul aboard her But the galley cat and you Then you’d hear a sort of something More than once I’ve heard it tooÿ Like a feller up aloft there Puttering around amongst the gear Lashing here another rat line Putting on a mousing there And a-whistling old tunes over Such as shellbacks used to know In the good old China tea trade Many, many years ago