My tapes are dirtier and my white hat grows less "sea-going" every day
and even you, Eli, are being forgotten. The company commander still
carols sweetly in the morning about "barrackses" and fire
"distinguishers," rookies still continue to rook about the camp in
their timid, mild-eyed way, while week-old sailors with unwashed
leggins delight their simple souls with cries of 'twenty-one days.'
New goats have sprung up to take your place in the life of the camp
and belittle your past achievements, but to me, O unregenerate goat,
you shall ever remain a refreshing memory. Good butting, O excellent
ruminant, wherever thou should chance to be. I salute you."
This soliloquy brought me to the verge of an emotional break-down. I
departed the spot in silence. On my way back through Probation I
chanced upon a group of rookies studying for their examinations and
was surprised to remember how much I had contrived to forget.
Nevertheless I stopped one of the students and asked him what a
"hakamaback" was and found to my relief that he didn't know.
"Back to your manual," said I gloomily, "I fear you will never be a
sailor."
Having thus made heavy the heart of another, I continued on my way
feeling somehow greatly cheered only to find upon entering my barracks
that my blankets were in the lucky bag.
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