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William T. Cox's
β€œ T H E    H O D A G    A N D   O T H E R   T A L E S    O F   T H E   L O G G I N G   C A M P S ”
(  90th  A N N I V E R S A R Y    H Y P E R T E X T   E D I T I O N  )
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men preferred the name of shanty boys. First, came the Irish, French and Scotch, then later, the Scandinavians. The Irish gave the tone to the shanty boy literature, as we have it, for their shanty songs and stories smacked of old Erin. Their songs were original, in spite of the fact that they contained more than a hint of Erin’s Isle. The tunes to which they set the words, were usually old, familiar Irish airs, which were also reminiscent of the times when many of the men stood watch against the mast, carrying the flavor and tang of the sea.
    After a long day in the woods, the shanty boy came back to camp, to feed and bed down the tired oxen and horses. Hanging his mackinaw on a rack, made of birch poles that crossed and recrossed the cabin, or on a big hook fastened to the wall, he proceeded to make his scanty toilet. When the cook’s call, “set up or we’ll throw it out,” came as sweet music to his ears, he and his jostling companions crowded themselves on rough benches, arranged on opposite sides of an oilcloth-covered table. Without further ado, they began to stow away prodigious quantities of salt pork, potatoes x
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and beans, with buckwheat cakes stacked high on the plates and swimming in maple syrup, or in the absence of the latter, sorghum and molasses. When a shanty boy called for a little Java, a large tin cup was filled to capacity and the contents were downed in two or three swallows.
    Supper over, and tin plates as empty as though a desert wind had swept them clean, the shanty boys flung their booted legs over the benches, stretched, lit their pipes and hurried into the bunk-house to spar for possession of the “deacon’s seat.” This was more than a mean wooden bench running around the bunkhouse, not unlike the forecastle of a ship,β€”it was the place where camp life manifested itself most richly. The lucky shanty boy, who secured the “deacon’s seat,” held sway as if he were on a throne, but his reign was apt to be short lived, as usurpers were numerous. Debates and a kangaroo court took the place of the usual story telling every Saturday night, often lasting way after midnight, into the “wee, sma’ hours” of Sunday. With a packed jury and no lack of willing witnesses, heaven help the man who was on trial!
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