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E. Watson Lyrics
The air all painted pallid gray, the storm was coming in
Folks were lining out in all directions.
Me and 'Holt' and Henry Short were pitching on the skiff
Trying to make it home before the night
And the gray waves were rolling
Bold the brave, brave ocean and rolled us suckers in
Well I don't keep to goings on
I tend to stick with kin
But Watson had it in from the beginning
Built that house on Chatham bend, a white wash knotted pine
Ninety acres furrowed for the cane
And he drove it down from Georgia,
His dad a martyred soldier in the war between the states.
Lord, bring down the flood
Wash away the blood
Drown these everglades, and put us in our place.
We laid Edgar Watson in his grave. We laid him in his grave.
'Til I'm dust I'll never know why he came ashore
With all those killers gathered on the shoreline
Kicking holes in ugly mud, with trigger fingers pinched
A brace of rifles, bristled in the wind
And we towed his body northbound,
And buried him all face down with a good view into Hell.
Lord, bring down down the flood.
Wash away the blood
Drown these Everglades, put us in our place.
We laid Edgar Watson in his grave.
We laid him in his grave
We laid him in his grave
We laid him in his grave
Folks were lining out in all directions.
Me and 'Holt' and Henry Short were pitching on the skiff
Trying to make it home before the night
Bold the brave, brave ocean and rolled us suckers in
I tend to stick with kin
But Watson had it in from the beginning
Ninety acres furrowed for the cane
And he drove it down from Georgia,
His dad a martyred soldier in the war between the states.
Wash away the blood
Drown these everglades, and put us in our place.
We laid Edgar Watson in his grave. We laid him in his grave.
With all those killers gathered on the shoreline
Kicking holes in ugly mud, with trigger fingers pinched
A brace of rifles, bristled in the wind
And we towed his body northbound,
And buried him all face down with a good view into Hell.
Wash away the blood
Drown these Everglades, put us in our place.
We laid Edgar Watson in his grave.
We laid him in his grave
We laid him in his grave
We laid him in his grave
Song Info
Submitted by
warrencon7001 On Nov 03, 2011
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This is a song about the outlaw Edgar Watson. Edgar Watson moved to Chokoloskee, Florida in the 1880's. He had killed two people, one also allegedly an outlaw and one apparently for self defense. He bought a plot of land on the Chatham Bend River and began raising vegetables. Watson also bought a claim on Lost Man's River. A man named Tucker squatted on the land and refused to leave. Later, when Tucker and his nephew were found dead, the blame fell on Watson. Afterwards, Watson returned to Chatham Bend and began making syrup from sugar cane. Unsavoury characters were known to hang around his residence, one named Melvin that was said to have burned down a factory and killed a few policemen. While Melvin and Watson were out, a man named Cox and an accomplice killed two people at the house on Chatham Bend. When Melvin and Watson returned, Cox killed Melvin also. It was October 17, 1910, and a hurricane was brewing. Incensed, Watson went to the sheriff in Fort Myers and asked him to arrest Cox. When the sheriff refused, Watson bought some shells at a department store and vowed to kill Cox himself. When Watson returned to Chokoloskee, he was met by a crowd who, after a standoff, killed him.
This song is told by the point of view of a Chokoloskee resident, who, with a few friends of his, is trying to make it home in their small dinghy at the start of the storm. "I'll never know why he came ashore, with all those killers", he says, relating the crowd of ruffians known to hang around Chatham Bend. Bitter about the man who came to the town and so sullied it, the mob who killed Watson "buried him all face down with a good view into hell". The narrator asks the Lord to wash away the blood of the people Watson killed and were killed because of Watson. He also asks for Him to "put us in our place", to baptismally wash away the sin of killing Watson and to be forgiven for the murder of a man so obviously vile.
This is Decemberists storytelling at its best.
What I find of interest about this story is the theme of "murdering murderers". Is murdrering a murderer murder? Edgar Watson presumably killed this Cox fellow who was a murderer. When we returning to Chokoliksee was killed. I feel the song hints at the fact he may have simply been gunned down by the crowd. Was this murder? How is it any different than waht E. Watson had just done? If you want to add an addtional layer of ethics, is killing a killer of a killer murder? I think the narrator has a guilty conscience as being part of the crowd that gunned him down without a trial or process of law, outlaw or not, the narrator clearly feels it was murder in my opinion. A reminder that there is never a time when savagery is justified and when the rule of law is discarded, it makes murderers of us all.
Check out "Killing Mr. Watson" by Peter Matthiessen if you're interested in the story.
Those lyrics as posted are not accurate.