Aboard, May 24, 1919
A letter from you came this morning as I thought it would. We got in last night at 9 o'clock, after having spent two days at sea. We went out where we get a pretty good deal of pitching and rolling, but I didn't get as sick as before.
Am sending some pictures we took the other day -- will try and get a side view of the ship some day when she is not tied up at the dock, and send you.
Thom and I went ashore this afternoon and out our European charts [Ed. note: navigational maps] out of the post office, and brought them back to the ship. We leave here between next Wednesday and Friday -- I don't know where for.
I would go ashore tonight but I have the 8 til 12 quartermaster watch on the bridge. My go anyway if I can get Barnsdale to change watches with me.
It's been raining a great deal up here too, during the last two weeks. It was foggy all day Thursday while we were out, so Thom and I had to stand listener watch all day long -- sick or no sick. There is a law in the Navy that says seasickness excuses no one, so sick officers and all must abide by it.
Got a letter from Grace Hapgood this morning, and I fear she gets entirely too sentimental.
Haven't been able to cash that check yet, but suppose I can when I get back to Philadelphia again. We may be back there in less than a month now. I would like to run into New York for a couple of weeks first, though.
If I was in for four years and had at least a year to do, I could get the mail clerk's job aboard, and that pays $15 a month extra. They said if I would sign up to finish my four years, they would guarantee that I kept it as long as I was aboard the Blakeley. I only laughed at them. I don't want to stay in three more years.
I have kept my insurance but only $5,000 of it. I figure that is all I will want to carry on the outside, when I do get out and change it over.
Got the clipping about the rodeo, and I sure wish I could be there to see it. I will be next year -- more than likely.
It clouded up right after dinner, but the sun is out now and it is a fine day. I sincerely hope it doesn't rain for a while.
Give the kiddies and Father my love.
Your affectionate son,
(Postmarked New London, Connecticut, May 31, 1919)