"The wealthy gent may think I'm wrong In writing this poor, uncouth song. But those who share my humble berth Will count my theme of greater worth. Perhaps you all who've crossed the sea Have, of the mfamous bark Yankee, Heard much of good, by fiction told. But now the truth I will unfold. Poverty, I know, is oft despised By those who think they're rich and wise. But oft in modest birth we'll find Men of sense, and noble mind. "Excuse sufficient this must be, True worth needs no apology. You to our steerage I'll invite, Where you shall see a motley sight. For here we sit 'mong ropes and rags, Spars, chicken coops, and dirty bags, Turkeys, sheep, and guinea hens, With Johnny Ching Ching,--all in one pen-- A pen some folks a steerage call, With ample room to hold us all. "From morn till night we sit around, Like gypsies camping on the ground. Some of us talk, and others sing, While some are busy scrimshawing. Some of politics are talking, Others on the decks are walking, And with the dogs ofttimes are playing, But pause to hear some witty saying. Below sits Caesar with open hymn-book Seeking grace with a pious look; While carpenter and mate with hammer, Do their best to make a clamor. "Hark! now the bell for dinner rings, And each one for the hatchway springs. 'Old Salt horse again' half-raw, To chew would need an iron jaw. 'Look here, cook, this meat's not done.' 'Boiled three hours,' cries Afric's son. 'But if you do not like the meat, There's murphies plus sea bread to eat. You can't complain, for as the crew Are treated by us, so are you.' These are the words of Captain Bob, Who thinks no harm poor men to rob. For robber it is, in every sense, To treat men thus, to save expense. "Now for our hammocks let us look; Search your corner--scan each nook. Vain the search. From hatch to hatch The Yankee's steerage has no match. On ropes and barrels men must lie, Thankful to get a little hay. For forty dollars per head we've got A passage minus bed or cot. Filled with barrels, ropes and sails, Where light o'er darkenss [sic] ne'er prevails. Here men are classed with brutish dogs, And treated worse than farmer's hogs. "Such odious scenes you can't admire, So from the steerage let's retire. But when again we go to sea 'Twill not be in the bark Yankee. To you, dear friends, I'll say goodbye-- For supper time is drawing nigh-- And welcome are the hours of night That from my view will hide the sight Of filth and dirt, and drive away The thoughts that haunt me all the day. "Saturday, December 26, 1857. This morning land could be seen from the mast head. At ten a.m. it could be seen from deck. At noon we hove in sight of the Golden Gate, and soon sailed into the beautiful bay of Frisco.