Transcription:
But as luck would have it the weather was stormy while lying in his bunk half--sick he made rhymes to be posted in the smoking
room-reflecting awful on me Behring Sea. Thus Snapping snarling Behring Sea, Hissing spitting as we flee- Spiteful Sea
Where thou art's no clime for me; Climbing hills that sink flee In to vales that bitterness be;Treacherous Sea Break thy
fang for all of me-- Shallow, foaming Behring Sea Still our course is over thee; Full of anger, full of spite, Strong
in luster, weak in might Draped in fog both day night Barren Sea Only Murres abide with thee, Had not John Muir put in
his lip Thou hadst not found me in the ship. Groaning on my narrow bed, Heaping curses on thy head, Wishing he were instead.
On green hills my foot would be Beyond the reach of Muir and thee. Most everybody wrote this sort of dogerell except me.
After I got home I 07196