rfectly splendid idea. Of course, like the rest
of my ideas it won't work, but it is a perfectly splendid idea for all
that. I got it while traveling on the ferry boat from New York to
Staten Island--the longest sea voyage I have had since I joined the
Navy. On this trip, strangely thrilling to a sailor in my situation,
but which was suffered with bored indifference by the amphibious
commuters that infest this Island in those waters, I saw a number of
ships so gaudily and at the same time so carelessly painted that any
God-fearing skipper of the Spanish Main would positively have refused
to command. Captain Kidd himself would have blushed at the very sight
of this ribald fleet and turned away with a devout imprecation.

This was my first experience with camouflage, and it impressed me most
unfavorably. An ordinary ship on a grumbling ocean is difficult enough
as it is to establish friendly relations with, but when trigged out in
this manner--why serve meals at all, say I. Nevertheless it occurred
to me that it would not be a bad idea at all to camouflage one's
hammock in such a manner that it took upon itself the texture and
appearance of the bulkhead of the barracks in which it was swung. In
this manner a sailor could sleep undisturbed for three weeks if he so
desired (and he does), without ever being technically considered a
deserter.

One could elaborate this idea still further and make one's sea bag
look like a clump of poison ivy, so that no inspecting officer would
ever care to become intimate with its numerous defects in cleanliness.
One might even go so far as to camouflage oneself into a writing desk
so that when visiting the "Y" or the "K-C" and unexpectedly required
to sing one would not be forced to rise and scream impatiently and
threateningly "Dear Mother Mine" or "Break the News to Mother." Not
that these songs are not things of rare beauty in themselves, but
after a day on the coal pile one's lungs have been sufficiently
exercised to warrant relief. This is merely an idea of mine, and now
that everybody knows about it I guess there isn't much use in going
ahead with it.

_Aug. 8th._ "This guide i-s l-e-f-t!" shouted the P.O., and naturally
I looked around to see what had become of the poor fellow.

"Keep your head straight. Eyes to the front! Don't move! Whatcha
lookin' at?"

"I was looking for the guide that was left," says I timidly. "It seems
to me that he is always being left."

"Company di