A few days of poor weather is confining us. There is time to think, and
time to do everything you think of—and then time to think.
One of my lines of thought has been how I might make a little money on
the side. Our spare hours come in such small classes that it does not
permit me to go about seeing the châteaux of this country, or to go to
Tours a great deal to sketch, except when it rains; then is not the time
to go. Mother mentioned giving my letters to some paper, I believe. I
know that a great many people over here are receiving quite a nice
little pay for just such letters. I wish I could work it some way, but
as I speak of it I feel a queer family pride which would spoil it, I
suppose. For some reason or other, there are only certain ways of
commercializing one’s assets without loss of pride. Is this loss of
cosmopolitanism, and an approach to caste? I guess not. I can sketch,
but that is not great fun when you haven’t interesting subjects and good
weather. I can make some post cards and try coloring them, which would
not be bad practice withal. Well, I’ll be going to Paris soon, and
laying in a good supply of good books.
Had a letter from Gop today. His letters are full of foolishness, and
most refreshing. He has gotten off all his conditions this summer, and
will probably get his degree in mid-year. The fraternity house opens on
the seventeenth of September, and Gop thinks there is a promising year
ahead. I see from the “_Tech_” there is to be a great increase in the
freshman class. My, but I hope they pull through with a strong line. I
put a lot of interest into the development of that fraternity, and got a
lot out of it. My feeling of ease in the barracks life is improving. I
believe adaptation can be made without concession, and get fair results.
Fifty more American pilots from the ground schools in the States arrived
yesterday. They have spent their first month in digging trenches and
foundations. They arrived in France August 22 via England, and are glad
to get here. One of them tells the story of their passage. One of the
boats was torpedoed in sight of the Welsh coast. There were seven
transports and a convoy of eleven torpedo boat destroyers. They were in
the dining room when they felt a heavy jar. All rose to their feet and
turned white, a few screamed, and others cried, “Steady.” They got to
the deck in time to see a destroyer rush to a spot a half mile away,
drop a sinking mine, and start up again. Before the destroyer had gone a
hundred feet the ocean over the bomb raised up in a mighty spout, which
lifted the rear of the destroyer thirty feet on the swell. It was one of
the new mines which destroy a submarine within a radius of six hundred
feet; meanwhile they had manned the life boats. Inspection proved that
the torpedo had struck a glancing blow and had not exploded. It made a
rent in the hull of the ship four feet long in a hold containing baled
cotton. The ship contained three hundred nurses besides the troops. It
is claimed that the submarine was sunk. It seems the mine does not harm
the destroyer any more than a rough sea.
Well, so much for today.