In the mid-19th century, the Gold Rush left many hopeful miners dispirited and penniless. Rumors abounded that the Pacific Northwest was ripe for the plucking, with rich, fertile soil for those willing to work it. Unfortunately, most of that soil was covered with timber, and years of work were needed before it would yield enough crops to sustain a family. Another dream dashed, but in its place was the possibility of “farming” the sea.

This song is also known as “Acres of Clams”, and is sung to the tune of the old Irish favorite Rosin the Beau. The phrase “I started one morning to shank it” simply means “I started off on foot”; the shin or leg was commonly known as the “shank” in the 19th century, and walking was often referred to as traveling “by shank’s mare.” You can listen to a version of this song by The Travelers here.

OLD SETTLER’S SONG

I’ve traveled all over this country
Prospecting and digging for gold;
I’ve tunneled, hydraulicked and cradled,
And I have been frequently sold.
And I have been frequently sold,
And I have been frequently sold.
I’ve tunneled, hydraulicked and cradled,
And I have been frequently sold.

For each man who got rich by mining,
Perceiving that hundreds grew poor,
I made up my mind to try farming
The only pursuit that was sure.
So rolling my grub in my blanket,
I left all my tools on the ground,
And started one morning to shank it
For the country they call Puget Sound.
For the country they call Puget Sound,
The country they call Puget Sound.
I started one morning to shank it
For the country they call Puget Sound.

Arriving flat broke in midwinter,
I found it enveloped in fog
And covered all over with timber
Thick as hair on the back of a dog.
When I looked on the prospects so gloomy,
The tears trickled over my face.
I thought that my travels had brought me
To the end of the jumping off place.
To the end of the jumping off place.
The end of the jumping off place.
I thought that my travels had brought me
To the end of the jumping off place.

I staked me a claim in the forest
And sat myself down to hard toil.
For two years I chopped and I loggered
But I never got down to the soil.
I tried to get out of the country
But poverty forced my to stay,
Until I became an old settler
Then nothing could drive me away.
Then nothing could drive me away,
Nothing could drive me away.
Until I became an old settler,
Then nothing could drive me away.

And now that I’m used to the climate,
I think that if a man ever found
A place to live easy and happy,
That Eden is on Puget Sound.
No longer the slave of ambition,
I laugh at the world and its shams,
As I think of my happy condition
Surrounded by acres of clams.
Surrounded by acres of clams.
Surrounded by acres of clams.
I think of my happy condition
Surrounded by acres of clams.