On board the Stagyra.
It is really most refreshing, after having visited a country like Turkey, to spend a few hours in Athens. Everything here seems young and fresh and full of vitality. It seems as though the spirit of the golden times of old Greece has suddenly returned after a long period of torpor.
The Stagyra has just left harbour, and is now sailing in the Ionian Sea.
A French cruiser has just approached our boat, and has told us to be careful, as floating mines have often been found in this locality during the last few weeks, and now makes her way at our side. Only yesterday, I am told, a Corfu sailing boat had been sunk by a mine, and only two of the crew were saved.
I have been on deck as much as possible because of the scenery, and also because of the fearful smell downstairs. The Roumanian captain is at my side and keeps telling me his worries; this is probably the last journey of the Stagyra, as he has no hope of being able to go back to Constanza now the Straits are closed and there is war in the Black Sea.
"And what are you going to do, now, when you have reached Marseilles, if you can't go back to your country?"
"My men and I have already decided to enlist in France. We are all well-trained and very good shots."
He answered as if this was the most natural thing to do.
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