Wednesday. Dec 11th. I feel that a few words of prayer might be reasonably set down in this, my book of words, to counterbalance our forcible, but excusable language of this evening. After waiting about, and expecting to go all day we get a wire at 8 p.m. to say that the boat has been delayed by fog, and that we shall not be leaving before Friday. Since then our long suffering patience has been broken before a wave of the blackest pessimism. Some there are who speak vaguely of the likelihood of the Poles, who are in revolt, marching on Graudenz and putting the inhabitants (and us) to the sword; others opine that the large bodies of troops expected back from the front any day will fall in hungry masses upon the camp and mob the barracks (and us). The most optimistic speak darkly of the rigors of the Graudenz winter in February. We are a happy camp!!