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Moths ate every uniform in my regiment one night in Kiev. We woke in our skin at a bad time, for the enemy had come. The sight of six hundred bare men running at them in the snow was too much. They left at once, and they never wrote.

Dice betrayed me only once, in a game with a small red gentleman near Lemberg. I lost my hat and won his tail. We traded back at dawn, since it did not suit either of us. He still writes each New Year, and his handwriting is dreadful.

Soup nearly sank us off Crete. Our cook had made too much of it, and it rose up past the hatches. We bailed with spoons. At last we all sat down, tied on bibs, and ate the ship dry. No crew was ever so full or so brave.

Chess with the Czar lasted eleven winters. He moved a pawn. I took a nap. He moved a knight. I had a son. When at last I won, the queen on the board winked at me, and the Czar sent me a sleigh full of plums for my trouble.

Laughter was banned in Krakow by a sad old king. I arrived in town with.