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 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 we have a submarine scare, I feel markedly better for a while—­it seems to reestablish my sense of proportion.

It is a mighty nerve- and temper-wearing life—­at sea nearly all the time and with the boat rolling and bucking like a broncho, you can’t exercise.  You can hardly do any work, but only hold on tight and wipe the salt spray from your eyes.  Sometimes I have started to shave and found the salt so thick on my face that soap would not lather.

JULY 16.