INTERLUDE: Two Whaler Shanties

The Whaler's Mourn
(To be sung to the tune of Barrett's Privateers)

Oh t'was last year in the Month of Rains, (How I wish I was in Dunwall town!)
I stepped aboard Captain Taylor's ship, my father's gun slung on my hip,
(Damn their eyes! Wicked lies! A Whaler's life is full of strife,
Mind your tongue, keep your gun aimed low, or you'll wind up on Slaughterhouse Row,
Drag me down to the undertow)

I scratched me mark in Taylor's book, (How I wish I was in Dunwall town!)
He promised me if I'd join his scheme, I'd make more coin than I'd ever seen,
(Damn their eyes! Wicked lies! A Whaler's life is full of strife,
Mind your tongue, keep your gun aimed low, or you'll wind up on Slaughterhouse Row,
Drag me down to the undertow)

Three days after we put to sea, (How I wish I was in Dunwall town!)
A glint appeared in the Captain's eye, as he plied me well with Tyvian wine,
(Damn their eyes…)

I woke in the brig with my hands in chains, (How I wish I was in Dunwall town!)
I'd signed myself as a volunteer, indentured for ten dreadful years,
(Damn their eyes…)

They worked my fingers to the bone, (How I wish I was in Dunwall town!)
Taylor was cruel with the nine-tailed whip, my father's gun slung on his hip,
(Damn their eyes…)

One night he drank more than his fill, (How I wish I was in Dunwall town!)
The ship caught a wave and he went down, cracked his skull on the old capstan,
(Damn their eyes...)

I took my gun and aimed it true, (How I wish I was in Dunwall town!)
I shot him ten times in the back, and left his body for the rats,
(Damn their eyes…)

Now here I slave in the silver mines, (How I wish I was in Dunwall town!)
How I long for the sun and the rolling waves, I'll be here the rest of my days,
(Damn their eyes…)

So gather round and listen well, (How I wish I was in Dunwall town!)
Before you sign a captain's book, beware he's not a blasted crook!
(Damn their eyes…)

Note: While indentured labour was eventually outlawed in the Isles in 1778, the working conditions of whalers and slaughterhouse workers are hotly contested to this day. The song remains popular in rowdy taverns across the Isles as a cautionary tale for poorly educated sailors and dock workers, particularly those who cannot read.

Over the Sea to Morley

Oh, merry revelers, raise your glasses
(Give me gold and glory!)
Here's to the pretty lads and lasses
(Over the sea to Morley!)

Ho ro fiddle de di do,
Over the sea to Morley

The Whaling season's cold and long
(Give me gold and glory!)
I'll be back by the Month of Songs
(Over the sea to Morley!)

Ho ro fiddle de di do,
Over the sea to Morley

I've sailed through many a winter storm…
Burned the Strictures to keep warm...*

Ho ro fiddle de di do...

Hark at the lads with their sea boots on...
Counting the days 'til we make port...

Ho ro fiddle de di do…

The walls are thin and the bed is lumpy...
Give 'er a bit o' the rumpy-pumpy...

Ho ro fiddle de di do...

Morley girls love salty seamen...
Got no coin but at least we're free men ...

Ho ro fiddle de di do…

Ho ro fiddle de di do,
Give me gold and glory!
Ho ro fiddle de di do
Over the sea to Morley!

*When sung on land (and especially within earshot of Overseers), this line is typically changed to "burned all the oil just to keep warm".

NOTE: This version of the shanty is one of almost infinite permutations, as Whalers are known to make up additional verses and swap them at ports all over the Isles. Most of these verses, however, are not fit to print.