List of Songs ~ Charlie Ipcar Home Page
Words by: Charlie Ipcar © 2025
Tune traditional after "Range of the Buffalo"
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I found the original of this colorized photo a fascinating vintage photo and wondered what was being unloaded in the stretchers on the gangway and what could be in those burlap-wrapped boxes lined up along the levee. There's a clue listed in WAY'S PACKET DIRECTORY, p. 399: In 1876 she is said to have transported 350 live alligators from New Orleans to Cincinnati; some were only 6 inches long but others were as long as 14 feet.
'Twas in the year of seventy-six,
April, the twenty-sixth day,
When I shipped aboard the "Mitchell,"
From New Orleans we steamed a-way,
I was put in charge of livestock
But much to my dismay,
It was three hundred alligators
That was being shipped that day.
Them gators was packed in boxes
Of every shape and size;
The smallest were six inches long
But much to my surprise,
Some were fourteen feet in length,
And I feared what was inside,
For they rattled up and down,
And rolled from side to side.
There was no need to feed them,
Or so the purser said;
But I must keep them very moist
Or they would soon be dead;
So I dipped a pail in the river
And emptied it on a crate;
After doing that three hundred times
I was in some sorry state.
That night I had a dreadful dream:
Them gators had broke free,
And was roaming 'bout the biler deck
As if upon a spree;
Just then I heard a piercing scream
Which gave me a great shock;
I tumbled from my bunk
And rushed to check my stock.
There was gators in the dining room;
There was gators on the guards;
There was gators smoking in the lounge;
And some was playing cards;
There was gators in the galley
Chumping cold-cuts by the score;
Each had a napkin 'round its neck,
And then they roared for more!
A gator bellied up to the bar
The bartender was sore afraid;
Though he had whiskey, rum, and rye,
He had no Gatorade;
Just then a shady lady
Waltzed into the bar;
A gator held her in his arms,
I knew trouble was not too far.
Then the whole place exploded,
There was gators everywhere;
I said, "I'm a gator-wrangler!"
They didn't seem to care;
Just then the purser shook me,
Stirred me from my dream,
"It's time to water them gators, lad,
And mop the biler deck clean."
So now I'm back on shore, me boys,
In fair Cincinnati town;
And them gators and the purser
Won't soon see me around;
This trip has been my misfortune
And caused me for to roam;
I am a gator-wrangler,
And a long, long way from home!
This song was inspired by a discussion of an old lantern slide (top of page) on a steamboat Facebook forum, as we speculated what might be n those odd shaped boxes being brought down the gangway in stretchers and lined up along the levee. One member then turned up a news article from the Memphis Avalanche which provided the answer. I could not help but imagine what might have gone wrong in this voyage up the Mississippi River, and so this song rose to the surface.
THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY LIVE ALLIGATORS
From the Memphis Avalanche, April 30, 1876
A nice lot of playthings in the form of 350 live alligators passed up the river yesterday, on their way to the National Centennial at Philadelphia. The hideous-looking reptiles embraced all sizes, from the little tiny thing six inches long, just out of its shell, to one thirteen and a half feet in length, named “Billy.” The latter, a venerable rascal, with a rather repulsive countenance, is supposed to be nearly one 150 years old, judging by marks he carries, as set forth by Audubon and other naturalists. These alligators were captured by Mr. Thomas L. Bond in the vicinity of Pearl River, Louisiana, and near its entrance into Lake Pontchartrain. In the collection is a small, mean-looking cuss named “Ned” who has learned to stand on his hind legs, dance “Juba,” and play tricks. Ned is about 3 years old and if this precocious plaything keeps on he will be likely to ride an act in a circus before a great while. While the steamer “Robert Mitchell,” on which they are, lay at the levee yesterday, a large number of curious people crowded around the wooden tanks or boxes in which the alligators sported. At one time Mr. Bond felt uneasy, and he called a comrade to watch his pets, to keep people from carrying off half a dozen of them to eat. Mr. Bond feeds the alligators on fish. At present they are healthy, and some of the amphibious and ferocious brutes look as if they would eat a hog in a minute, or a man either.
Crocodile by Dahlov Ipcar