A precious remembrance to a faithful soil

Elk No. 1 is our little boat name
About thirty one tons net is she 
We left Coupeville in the gold rage 
With grub for Alaska too years to be

In fear as dred Stood at the wheel that night
Lashed to the Helm fast
The Seas they Strike out little Craft
as madly they went past

Like a thing of life She.d Shiver and pause 
as Struck, Sailing foam
and I though of friends I left behind 
In thier Whily Island home

I feared Each braking wave might Spring
Some plank in our little boat.
or Slap our deck both Fore and aft
And take Every think afloat.

Thir was Coal oil Spuds (?) and chunks of wood 
and barrels of watter, well
but what I might do if they had gone by 
Is more than I can tell

		Far as I stood at the wheel that night
		Lash to the Helm fast
		I had not a chance to get out of the way
		If on board a sea would it crashed

		I understood the position gusted(?)
		of the Danger; of that place
		Thot I that that very night might be
		Called to my Makers Face

		There were Seventeen of us in our little boat
		bound to Alaska for gold
		but no though of the metal thats preses (precious?) and bright 
		Intrested our minds on that ofull night

		But some had a wife and a nice little home 
		with children to Crawl on their knee 
		Whud place thir arms in that sweet childish way 
		and say papa you know I love thee

		Charly Smith was our Captain~s name 
		A seaman bold and free
		and kind and true to all of the crew 
		on board of his ship at sea
		
		and one of us, a lad in his teens
		Had left his mothers Fold
		to try the miners hardy life
		and Search Alaska for gold

		A lady also was in the crowd
		the wife of our Engineer
		She was sick to the quik at this terrible trip
		Wich I sent remarkably queer

		the way she flung herself that night 
		In the engine room it was a fright 
		but morrison and Bowman were both at the lever 
		to ease or stop or push it was a fright

		The way the propeller Spun
		As she tilted her Stern, it was no fun
		Licky brindle the Fin. would go
		And the down;  Cluck; in billows below

		Then up; need go on on angry wave 
		and down in the billows went she 
		we fought our way till the break of day 
		With Ynga. under our lee

		I though of the Skooner His perssuss (Hesperus?) 
		that ran, on Normans. Wise
		and the cruel fate of her Skippers 
		that happened so long a go

		I thought of His Powers who settled the waves
		On the Sea of Galalee.
		And I prayed that he would deliver us all
		Prom such an angry sea

		Happy were we on the following morn
		after having weathered the storm
		With Unga Island under our lee
		For the day was as bright and fair could be.



Theas verses wer composed by our Johny sailer boy and every word is true

Well, anna you must keep theas letter and keep that few lines of poetry  I will close and bid you good by and my love to all
adress to Kotzbeu Sound

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