I stand on the deck at midnight As the clocks are striking the hour And I’ll keep the watch until morning To the best of my humble power. We are anchored in Pedro harbor Tho there isn’t much of a lee And why they call it a harbor Is something I never could see But our hook is in hole A seven And our center anchor chain Has forty-five in the hawse pipe And a very gentle strain. When we anchored our trusty leadsman Made a very careful cast Finding eight and a half good fathoms As the bugler blew the blast. And down below in the fire rooms Which the black gang ought to man The steam is blowing bubbles In number seven can. All the battleship divisions Swing nearby on the blue Except the West Virginia And the Mississippi too. The Senior Officer Present Floats peacefully in his sleep On the good ship California The guardian of the deep. At one fifteen Roskelly A pill rolling pharmacist’s mate Returned from his leave on schedule He’s lucky he wasn’t late. That’s all the dope this morning Except, just between us two If the Captain ever sees this log My gawd what will he do? E.V. Dockweiler, Ensign, U. S. Navy |
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