On this particular night, as far as one could see, this brilliant
organic light illuminated the sea like the hands of my luminous
wrist-watch were made brilliant by phosphorescence. I noticed this and
looked down at my watch to see what time it was. It was midnight.
As I looked, my friend, who was standing beside me on the deck, said:
"The last order is that no wrist-watches that are luminous may be
exposed on the decks at night. That order came along with the order
forbidding smoking on the decks at night. The Germans can sight the
light of a cigar a long distance through their periscopes."
I smiled to myself, for it was my first introduction to the romantic
part that lights and the lack o' lights is playing in this great World
War. Then my friend continued his observations as we stood there on
the aft deck watching the white waves break, glorious with
phosphorescence. He said: "What a topsyturvy world it is. Three years
ago if a great ship like this had dared to cross the Atlantic without a
single light showing, it would have horrified the entire world, and
that ship captain would have been called to trial by every country that
sails the seas. He would have been adjudged insane. But now every
ship sails the seas with no navigation-lights showing."