[Sidenote:  Roller-skating for amusement ashore.]

I hate to tell you what I was doing this afternoon.  You will think I am not at war at all when I tell you that I have been roller-skating.  I was a bit rusty at first, but warmed up to it.  It is about the only exercise we can get on shore, for it rains all the time.  Each shower puts an added crimp in my temper, as I have been trying to get a new coat of camouflage paint on the ship.  I think, if some of the old paint-and-polish captains and admirals could see her now, they would die of apoplexy.

[Sidenote:  No chance for wives to come over.]

I fear there is no chance for you to come over.  Admiral Sims disapproves—­not of you personally—­one cannot find a place to live here, and there would be too many hardships.  How would it be for you when we had said good-bye, and you saw the ship start out into a howling gale or go out right after several ships had been sunk outside?  With you at home among friends, I can keep my mind on my job, which I couldn’t if you were alone over here.

Let me say right now that the destroyer torpedoed was not ours.  It was hard on you all to have the news published that one had been and a man killed, and not say what boat, as that leaves every one in suspense.  I suppose the relatives of the man were notified, but that doesn’t help other people who were anxious.

[Sidenote:  A destroyer is torpedoed but does not sink.]

I don’t suppose I can tell you which boat either, if the authorities won’t.  You do not know any one on board of her, however.  They saw it coming, jammed on full speed, and nearly cleared it.  It took them just at the stern and blew off about 30 feet as neatly as son would bite the end off a banana.  The submarine heard the explosion, of course, from below, and came to the surface to see the “damned Yankee” sink, only to find the rudderless, sternless boat steaming full speed in a circle with her one remaining propeller, and to be greeted by a salvo of four-inch shells that made her duck promptly.  The man killed saw the torpedo coming and ran aft to throw overboard some high explosives stowed there—­but he didn’t quite make it.

[Sidenote:  Damaged destroyers somehow get back to port.]

Our destroyers are really wonderful boats—­you can shoot off one end of them, ram them, cut them in two, and still they float and get to port somehow.

Some time ago, on a pitch-dark night, one of them was rammed by a British boat and nearly cut in two.  Was there a panic?  Not at all.  As she settled in the water, they got out their boats and life-rafts, the officers and a few selected men stayed on board, and the rest pulled off in the darkness singing, “Are we downhearted?  No!” and “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.”  She floated, though with her deck awash; the boats were recalled, and they brought her in.  She is fixed up and back in the game again now.