Blowing big guns all day. The equator is a myth, and we expect to enter the Panama Canal in a snow-storm.
Reading Balzac’s “Eugenie Grandet”. Becoming quite an adept in flying about in mid-air ascending and descending my hammock. This is the only exercise I get. Physical jerks are a thing of the past: the army suffers from ennui and would rudely resent any such proposition.
Walk March 