y 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 blase 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--_a 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