When he once starts in, Fourgues fairly lets rip. But Villiers thinks he is right and so do I, and sometimes we wonder if all these people haven’t gone balmy. Well, who lives will learn and we can die but once. If the _Pamir_ goes down and we go to Davy Jones’ locker, at least we know whose fault it is. We reached Bilbao after a bit of a shaking, from crossing in ballast and because as we ran up the coast of Portugal, the weather was awful. I will pass over the beastly trouble Fourgues had finding out where and how to get his ore. It looks as though the representatives France has here pass their time playing bridge instead of looking after their business. They must have sent down fellows whose friends at court keep them well out of danger and who prefer to have a good time at a safe distance from the front, but who know as much about tramp-steamers and materials as I do about the organ. And you should see how attentive the Spaniards are to the Germans and to all the Germans do down here. Practically the Boche is boss! The Huns know everything, see everything that sails, and inform their ambassador at Madrid, who must direct at least fifty thousand Boches with a nod of his head. There are Hun spies everywhere, but we haven’t any anywhere. Good Lord, it’s lucky for us that Germany’s geographical position in relation to the sea is what it is--in a sort of blind alley! Only to see how she has succeeded in making fools of us at the sea, at arm’s length, as it were, one can be certain that if we were in her place and she in ours, we should have been cleaned out long since and shouldn’t be getting an ounce of merchandise from outside.