Finally, yesterday, Fourgues said that he had had his bellyful of Archangel, vodka, and poker--perhaps he had been losing!--and he got hold of an officer of the port who came along talking hot air, and was promised that the _Pamir_ will be unloaded to-morrow. I dare say that means eight days, but, at any rate, as one of the English cruisers will sail this evening for _Youmanie_,[1] I shall give her this letter, having finished my twenty pages. You can’t call yourself neglected--eh, old chap? But you are good, too, sending me as much news as you can and your books. I have finished the first volume of the Naval History. I will write about it if I remember. Except for reading, I am bored to death, for at the rate at which the _Pamir_ has been going, I wonder where on earth they will send us next, and in the meantime, what is to become of La Rochelle? Let us hope that by the end of the year, we shall have peace or the wedding! Don’t laugh at me, old boy. I have had about all I can stand. [1] England. MUDROS, _December 18, 1915_. Here we are again in the Levant after all, but not without adventures, and it’s really no joke to have wandered all round Europe from Archangel to the Dardanelles only to fall into our present scrape. At Toulon I received your letter of the end of September in answer to mine from Archangel. Thanks very much. I shall speak of it if I have time, but for the moment I am going to tell you the adventures of the old _Pamir_ for the last three months. You might indeed call us the Wandering Jews! The longer it lasts, the more they grab merchant ships wherever they find them, putting no matter what on the deck provided it goes away--and to Hell with it! Fourgues finally did get his stuff unloaded at Archangel and succeeded in sailing without a convoy. He said it wasn’t worth while losing time with boats that can’t get up any speed, and that when there are too many hookers and not enough convoying ships it’s just a little bit too good a target for submarines. Wherever we called I noticed that Fourgues had not been far wrong when he said, at the beginning, that the submarines were going to count later on. The officials are beginning to find them a nuisance. What would happen if all those bureaucrats had to go to sea! They might then find something to say besides: “Pshaw! Don’t believe everything you hear, and, anyway, we sink so many that soon there won’t be any more!” Of course, after that one can only shut up. Mum’s the word in the newspapers and everywhere else!... I will tell you all my little notions as occasion arises.