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.
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 reëstablish 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.
Time is passed navigating, standing watch, sleeping.
Things are the same as before with us. Time passes quickly, with navigating, standing watch and sleeping when you get a chance. One day or two passes all too quickly. I wish there were more to do in the shape of relaxation when we do get ashore. The people here are cordial enough, according to their lights, but those that we meet are practically all Army and Navy people, who have no abode here themselves and are almost as much strangers as we are; and there is no resident population of that caste that would ordinarily open its doors to foreign naval officers.
Little for diversion in Ireland.
Ireland is a poor country comparatively. A town of 50,000 here shows less in the way of facilities for diversion than the average town of 10,000 in the States.
Mental privations hurt more than physical ones.