Well, I was scheduled for the jury pool today and rather than count the tiles on the ceiling I brought along a copy of OCEAN HAUNTS by Burt Franklin Jenness. Actually I only got about 90 minutes of reading before the judge called us in and announced that all five trials were settled and that our services were no longer needed. I guess just the threat of us being there was sufficient to persuade the parties to settle the cases.

Here's one to wake you up:

REVEILLE

(Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From OCEAN HAUNTS, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
Empire Publishing Co., New York, US, © 1934, p. 58.)

When th' dawn is jest a-breakin',
An' th' runnin' lights are dim,
An' th' risin' sun is makin'
Streaks scross th' ocean's rim;
When th' mornin' light is shiftin'
From a kind of dusty gray,
An' th' ship is sorta driftin'
In a lazy kind of way,
An' a feller wakes up shakin'
With a sea breeze down his neck,
An' his knees s' cold they're achin'
Cause his blanket's half on deck;
An' th' sunshine comes a-peepin'
Through the gun-port from th' sea –
Then he knows there's no more sleepin',
For they're blowin' reveille.

Then th' gang is all a-stirrin',
An' th' whole berth deck's alive;
All a-buzzin' an' a-whirrin''
Like a capsized wild bee-hive;
Then it's roll your hammock snappy
An' jump into workin' white,
Though y' won't be feelin' happy
Till y' knows th' chow's in sight –
Then it's out on deck f' cleanin',
An' it's all hands on th' swabs –
An' it ain't no time f' spleenin',
Nor a-huntin' round f' jobs –
All y' hear is jest t' swashin'
Of th' water, an' th' gring
Of the holystones, an' sloshin'
Of the swabbers on behind.

Then o' sudden comes th' clatter
Of th' mess gear far away,
An' th' smell o' fryin' batter,
An' th' coffee finds its way;
Then it's dry 'er down, an' rustle
All th' cleanin' gear an' hose,
An' it takes a wash an' hustle
In b'fore th' mess call goes;
O, there's somethin' that's worth tellin'
When y' tumble out at dawn,
With y' shipmates all a-yellin'
After reveille has gone;
An' I'll tell y' mates there's livin'
When th' gang gets up at sea,
An' sometime y'll feel like givin'
Half you own, for reveille.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble