MAY 26.

I never seem to get time to write a real letter. All hands, including
your husband, are so dead tired when off watch that there is nothing to
do but flop down on your bunk--or on the deck sometimes--and sleep. The
captain and I take watch on the bridge day and night, and outside of
this I do my own navigating and other duties, so time does not go
a-begging with me. However, we are still unsunk, for which we should be
properly grateful.

[Sidenote: War has become matter-of-fact.]

I have seen a little of Ireland and like New York State better than
ever. It is difficult to realize how matter-of-fact the war has become
with every one over here. You meet some mild mannered gentleman and talk
about the weather, and then find later that he is a survivor from some
desperate episode that makes your blood tingle. I would that we were
over on the North Sea side, where Providence might lay us alongside a
German destroyer some gray dawn. This submarine-chasing business is much
like the proverbial skinning of a skunk--useful, but not especially
pleasant or glorious.


JUNE 1.

[Sidenote: Glad to be in the big game.]

When I said good-bye to you at home, I don't think that either of us