The Evening Times Globe August 16^th, 1996

Rowing Song of the St. John Crew

Sung At Mechanics’ Institute, St. John, On Wednesday Evening, Oct. 25, 1868

TOP: Plan of the course for the Anglo-Canadian Boat Race Championship, Aug 23, 1871.

MIDDLE ROW (centre): The Paris Crew of Elijah Ross, Robert Fulton, George Price, James A. Harding (Commissioner) and Samuel Hutton. MIDDLE ROW (left and right): Rowing Song of the St. John Crew Sung at the Mechanics’ Institue, St. John, on Wednesday Evening, October 28, 1868.

BOTTOM: The start of the championship boat race in Paris, 1867.

On Wednesday, October 21^st, 1868, the International six-mile four-oared Race for the Championship, came off on the Connecticut River, at Springfield, Mass. The contestants were the WARD BROTHERS of New York, and the ST. JOHN CREW, composed of Messrs George Price, Robert Fulton, Samuel Hutton, and Elijah Ross of Carleton, St. John. The St. John Crew took the Race in 39 min 28 3/4 sec, beating their opponents by one minute. The former victory of this Crew at Paris during the International Exposition in 1867 and the triumph now gained fairly entitle them to the Championship of the World.

THE START.

The day is cool and calm, boys,

The course is smooth and clear:

The WARDS have borne the palm, boys

But we have naught to fear.

(Chorus at starting)

Dip, boys, dip the oar

Hear the shouts from the distant shore;

Victory ours must be,

Or our Paris honours flee.

Dip, boys, dip the oar,

Hear the shouts from the distant shore;

Champions we shall be,

If we gain the victory

THE RACE.

Our friends down in St. John, boys,

Both men and maidens fair,

Shall, laughing, sing our song, boys,

And drive away all care.

(Chorus at the Stake Boat.)

Strain, boys, strain each nerve,

Never from our purpose swerve,

Champions we must be

In this race for victory.

Strain, boys, strain each nerve,

Never from our purpose swerve,

"Champions of the World,"

Is the banner we’ve unfurled

THE HOME STRETCH.

Our fors ne’er thought to find, boys,

That we should win the race,

But the WARD are far behind, boys,

And gloom is on each face.

(Chorus at the Judge’s Boat.)

Up, boys, lift the oar,

The goal is won, the contest o’er,

"Champions" - ‘tis our due

"Of the Old World and the New."

Steady, boys, ease the oar,

Tightly row to the bailing shore,

"Champions" - ‘tis our due

"Of the Old World and the New."