Though a steady sea boat, the “Pakeha”, being empty, is pitching a good deal, and many are seasick. Enormous green waves go rushing past, lifting the big boat on their backs, and then letting it sink down, down in the trough between. My hammock is right in a whistling doorway beyond the end of the table, so that I can neither put it up during the day, make my bed in it when it is up, nor get up into it except by gymnastic performance of clinging to a girder in the ceiling and slinging myself into a helpless jumble of twisted blankets and canvas. Moreover, I am then bumped from below by everyone passing in and out of the door all night.
Have been varying attempts to pace the deck with O. Henry stories – “Options”: excellent as usual, and I am frequently compelled to turn my face to the wall and quake with laughter.
The Y.M.C.A. have a good stock of books which they are lending out free. They have also dished out lemons to the low spirited, so that the decks are not littered with peel, in addition to other disasters.
What a humbler of the proud is mal de mer!
Walk March 