Just now on going to the watch, my comrade and I, in order to celebrate the New Year, took to the bridge a bottle of champagne, a poor cheap bottle of champagne, some renamed Saumur, for our ship does not possess any rare vintage. In the shelter of the navigation-house, five glasses had been placed on the map of the Ionian Sea; they covered Sicily, Apulia, Corfu, the Pelopennesus and Libya; the bottle occupied the sector of the _Waldeck-Rousseau_, and in the storm awaited the five officers on duty. A black and icy rain was falling. The chill bit into one’s flesh. When we stretched out our hands we could not see the tips of our fingers. A dripping steersman came howling in our ears--“Captain, it is midnight!” “Lieutenant, it is midnight!” Bracing ourselves against a gale which almost tore us from the deck, we wiped our weeping eyes. We could not all get into the shelter-house; a group of two or three slipped in by turn and those who were not drinking continued the lookout. We stood under the wan streak of an electric light among books, confidential documents, maps, not daring to stir for fear of wetting these precious papers. We uncorked the bottle, which in popping made a pretense of sparkling, like our own false gayety. We raised the glasses. Drops of water fell from our sleeves and our fingers shook. We awaited the toast, but not one found anything to say. France invaded.... War stretching into the long future.... Our families, so far away.... So much sorrow.... No professional pleasures, and no hope of battle.... Accursed weather and a frozen body.... In our eyes shone something moist which was not rain; we were sad but tried to smile. The glasses trembled. “To France!” I murmured at length. It was the only brilliant thing to come to my mind. “To France!” responded the others, and the glasses chattered against our teeth. No one finished his glass. After one swallow we could drink no more, but set our glasses down anywhere. The wind and rain rushed in by the half-open door, and one after the other, with choking hearts, we resumed our dim vigil on the bridge. Two hours more before going below, two hours of tempest and anxious revery! Like a star shining in the midst of a hurricane, the mind watches in a body worn with fatigue. Across space the great tragedies of the dead year surge out of the past, and assemble in the mind of an officer harassed by the wind. Paris delicious in Spring and Summer.... Plans for the future.... The thunder of Serajevo.... The knife struck by Austria into the throat of Serbia.... The diplomatic storm.... The war.... The Prussians near Paris.... The immortal Marne.... The Adriatic hunts.... Drowning Russia.... Unchained Turkey.... Serbia invaded and freed.... Dramas of the sea.... Five months of exhausting cruises.... The submarine _Curie_.... _3 January, after several watches and bad weather._