IN THE YEARS 1827 AND 1828, by Basil Hall. It's March 1828, and the author has headed into the interior of Georgia from the sea islands area. On reaching Darien, a neat little village on the left bank of the gigantic Alatamaha, one of the largest rivers in America, but the name of which I had never even heard of before, we were met by a gentleman we had formerly known, and at whose invitation we were now visiting this part of the country. Under his escort we proceeded down the current in a canoe some thirty feet long, hollowed out of a cypress tree. The oars were pulled by five smart negroes, merry fellows, and very happy looking, as indeed are most of their race, in spite of all their bondage. They accompanied their labour by a wild sort of song, not very unlike that of the Canadian voyageurs, but still more nearly resembling that of the well-known Bunder-boatmen at Bombay. This is great stuff, Gibb! I like the approach and am rowing fast to catch up. I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention and you got launched without me realizing it. Thanks for doing this and for keeping this very important discussion alive and well. Just chuck this in to test others' opinions - it derives from analysis of dear old John Short's repertoire (which he aquired between 1855 and 1875): The capstan/windlass stuff seems to tend (yes, deliberately imprecise) to utilise shore-song narratives (often Anglo-Irish except where they