We were holding drill yesterday when the signal was made from the flagship, “War is declared.”  I translated it to my crew, who received the news with much gayety but hardly a trace of excitement.

APRIL 13.

[Sidenote:  Anxiety to get into the big game.]

There is absolutely no news.  We are standing by for what may betide, with not the faintest idea of what it may be.  Of course, we are drilling all the time, and perfecting our readiness for action in every way, but there is a total absence of that excitement and sense of something impending that one usually associates with the beginning of war.  Indeed, I think that the only real anxiety is lest we may not get into the big game at all.  I do not think any of us are bloodthirsty or desirous of either glory or advancement, but we have the wish to justify our existence.  With me it takes this form—­by being in the service I have sacrificed my chance to make good as husband, father, citizen, son, in fact, in every human relationship, in order to be, as I trust, one of the Nation’s high-grade fighting instruments.  Now, if fate never uses me for the purpose to which I have been fashioned, then much time, labor, and material have been wasted, and I had better have been made into a good clerk, farmer, or business man.

[Sidenote:  The desire to be put to the test.]

I do so want to be put to the test and not found wanting.  Of course, I know that the higher courage is to do your duty from day to day no matter in how small a line, but all of us conceal a sneaking desire to attempt the higher hurdles and sail over grandly.

You need not be proud of me, for there is no intrinsic virtue in being in the Navy when war is declared; but I hope fate will give me the chance to make you proud.

APRIL 21.

[Sidenote:  A chance to command.]

[Sidenote:  Bringing a ship to dock.]

I have been having lots of fun in command myself, and good experience.  I have taken her out on patrol up to Norfolk twice, where the channel is as thin and crooked as a corkscrew, then into dry dock.  Later, escorted a submarine down, then docked the ship alongside of a collier, and have established, to my own satisfaction at least, that I know how to handle a ship.  All this may not convey much, but you remember how you felt when you first handled your father’s car.  Well, the car weighs about two tons and the W——­ a thousand, and she goes nearly as fast.  You have to bring your own mass up against another dock or oilship as gently as dropping an egg in an egg-cup, and you can imagine what the battleship skipper is up against, with 30,000 tons to handle.  Only he generally has tugs to help him, whereas we do it all by ourselves.

[Sidenote:  Justifying one’s existence as an officer.]

This war is far harder on you than on me.  The drill, the work of preparing for grim reality, all of it is what I am trained for.  The very thought of getting into the game gives me a sense of calmness and contentment I have never before known.  I suppose it is because subconsciously I feel that I am justifying my existence now more than ever before.  And that feeling brings anybody peace.