JAM ON JERRY'S ROCKS
(learned from Pete Seeger and other sources)
Come, all you true-born shanty boys, wherever you may be.
'Twas on a Sunday mornin', ere daylight did appear.
Now some of us were willin', and some of us were not,
We had not picked out many a log when Monroe he did say,
When all of our brave shanty-boys the bad news came to hear,
We pulled him from his watery grave, brushed back his raven hair.
For Clara was a nice young girl, the riverman's true friend.
They buried him with sorrow deep, 'twas on the first of May.
Now Clara did not long survive, her heart it broke with grief,
Come all you true-born shanty-boys, I would have you to see
(from miriam berg's folksong collection)
Come sit here on the deacon's seat, and listen unto me.
'Tis of the jam on Jerry's rocks and hero you should know,
The bravest of the shanty-boys, our foreman, Young Monroe.
Our logs were piled up mountain high, we could not keep them clear.
Our foreman said, Come, cheer up, lads, with hearts relieved of fear.
We'll break the jam on Jerry's rocks, and to Saginaw we will steer.
For to work on jams on Sunday they did not think we ought.
But six of our brave shanty-boys, they did agree to go
And break the jam on Jerry's rocks with foreman Young Monroe.
This jam will soon give way boys, I'll see you far away.
These words were hardly spoken when the jam did break and go,
As he picked the key log out of the drive, and off went Young Monroe.
In search of their brave comrades, to the river they did steer.
Some of the mangled bodies a-floating down did go,
While crushed and bleeding on the beach lay the form of Young Monroe.
There was a fair young maiden there whose sad cries rent the air.
A fair young form among us, a maid from Saginaw town,
Whose moans and cries rose to the skies for her lover who'd gone down.
She with her widowed mother dear lived by the river's bend.
The wages of her own dear love the boss to her did pay,
And the shanty-boys made up for her a generous purse next day.
Come all you true-born shanty-boys and for your comrade pray,
Engraved upon a hemlock tree that by the grave did grow
Was the name and date of the sad fate of foreman Young Monroe.
And scarcely two months later, death came to her relief.
And when this time had passed away and she was called to go,
Her last request was granted to rest beside Monroe.
Those two green mounds by the riverside, where grows the hemlock tree.
The shanty-boys cleared off the brush that by the graves did grow
Of the handsome Clara Vernon and our foreman, Young Monroe.