Sylvania (AFS 2) - Naval Cruise Book

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f ! vYU'V'f fs yjq fs ,T 'mtg' i r X ' ' ' I In at Q . Q P Y -la'il-'sl:nl'l sg-Q-I-4 4-n 'll - -.-- nv- '3-' 1 IPE ' AM Now each of us from time to time, has gazed upon the sea, and watched the warships pulling out, to keep this country free. And most of us have read a book, or heard a lusty tale, about these men who sail these ships, through lightning, wind and hail. But there's a place within each ship, that legend fails to teach. It's down below the water line and takes a living toll - a hot metal living hell, that sailors call the hole. It houses engines run by steam that make the shafts go round. A place of fire, noise and heat that beats your spirits down. Where boilers, like a hellish heart, with blood of angry steam, are molded gods without remorse, are nightmares in a dream. Whose threat, that from the fires roar, is like a living doubt, that any minute would with scorn, escape and crush you out. Where turbines scream like tortured souls alone and lost in hell, as ordered from above somewhere, they answer every bell. The men who keep the fires lit, and make the engines run, are strangers to the world of light, and rarely see the sun. They have no time for man or God, no tolerance for fear, Their aspect pays no living thing, the tribute of a tear. For there's not much that men can do, that these men haven't done, beneath the decks, deep in the hole, to make the engines run. And every hour of every day, they keep the watch in hell, For if the fires ever fail, their ship's a useless shell. When ships converge to have a war, upon an angry sea, The men below just grimly smile, at what their fate might be. They're locked below like men fore-doomed, who hear no battle cry, It's well assumed that if they're hit, the men below will die. For every day's a war down there, when gauges all read red, Twelve-hundred pounds of heated steam can kill you mighty dead. So if you ever write their songs, or try to tell their tale, The very words would make you hear a fired furnace's wail. And people as a general rule, don't hear of men of steel, So little's heard about this place, that sailors call the hole. But I can sing about this place, and try to make you see, The hardened life of men down there, cause one of them is me. I've seen these sweat-soaked heroes fight, in superheated air, To keep their ship alive and right, though no one knows they're there And thus they'll fight ages on, till warships sail no more, Amid the boilers' mighty heat, and the turbines hellish roar. So when you see a ship pull out, to meet a warlike foe, Remember faintly if you can, The men Who Sail Below.

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