Worlds War Events - Volume 3 | Page 4

be undergoing all the agonies of indecision as to whether I
should enlist or no; it would darken our lives for weeks or months, and
in the end I should go anyhow, letting my means of livelihood and
yours go hang, and be away just as long and stand as good a chance of
being blown up as I do now. So I am very thankful that things have
worked out as they have for us.

[Sidenote: Little one is permitted to tell.]
There is very little to tell that I am allowed to tell you. The technique of
submarine-chasing and dodging would be dry reading to a landsman. It
is a very curious duty in that it would be positively monotonous, were it
not for the possibility of being hurled into eternity the next minute. I
am in very good health and wholly free from nervous tension.
P.S. When despondent, pull some Nathan Hale "stuff," and regret that
you have but one husband to give to your country.
JUNE 8.
[Sidenote: Sleep, warmth and fresh food become ideals.]
Once more I get the chance to write. We are in port for three days, and
that three days looks as big as a month's leave would have a month ago.
Everything in life is comparative, I guess. When we live a comfortable,
civilized, highly complex life, our longings and desires are many and
far-reaching. Now and here such things as sleep, warmth, and fresh
food become almost the limit of one's imagination. Just like the sailor
of the old Navy, whose idea of perfect contentment was "Two watches
below and beans for dinner."
[Sidenote: Nothing causes excitement.]
You get awfully blasé on this duty--things which should excite you
don't at all. For instance, out of the air come messages like the
following: "Am being chased and delayed by submarine." "Torpedoed
and sinking fast." And you merely look at the chart and decide whether
to go to the rescue full speed, or let some boat nearer to the scene look
after it. Or, if the alarm is given on your own ship, you grab
mechanically for life-jacket, binoculars, pistol, and wool coat, and
jump to your station, not knowing whether it is really a periscope or a
stick floating along out of water.
JUNE 20.

Well, we got mail when we came into port this time, your letter of May
28 being the last one. I don't mind the frequent pot-shots the U-boats
take at us, but doggone their hides if they sink any of our mail! We
won't forgive them that.
[Sidenote: No joy-of-battle to be found.]
My health is excellent, better than my temper, in fact. I am beginning to
think that we are not getting our money's worth in this war. I want to
have my blood stirred and do something heroic--_à la_ moving-pictures.
Instead of which it much resembles a campaign against cholera-germs
or anything else which is deadly but difficult to get any joy-of-battle
out of.
Do tell me everything you are doing, for it is up to you to make
conversation, since there is so little of affairs at this end that I can talk
about. It is a shame, for you always claimed that I never spoke unless
you said something first; and now I am doing the same thing under
cover of the letter.
JULY 2.
[Sidenote: Life so gray that shock of danger is beneficial.]
The other day, half-way out on the Atlantic, we sighted a periscope,
and some one at the gun sent a shell skimming over the _C----_, who
was in the way, and then the periscope turned out to be a ventilator
sticking up over some wreckage. However, the incident was welcome.
You have no conception of how gray life can get to be on this job, and
the shock of danger, real or imaginary, is really beneficial, I think. All
hands seem to be more cheerful under its influence.
JULY 4.
I was so glad to get your letters. A man who has a brave woman behind
him will do his duty far better and, incidentally, stand more chance of
coming back, than one who feels a drag instead of a push.

I am glad son had his first fight. You were perfectly right to make him
go on. Mother used to tell how, when brother was a wee boy, he came
home almost weeping, and said, "Mother, a boy hit me." Instead of
comforting him, she said, "Did you hit him back?" It almost killed her,
he was so utterly dumbfounded and hurt; but next time he hit back and
licked.
[Sidenote: The life wears nerves and temper.]
I am well but get rather jumpy at times. Strangely enough, it is always
over more or less trivial matters. Every time