nd
hotter still aboard the transatlantic liner thrust between the piers.
One glance at our cabins, at the crowded decks and dining-room, at the
little writing-room above, where the ink had congealed in the ink-wells,
sufficed to bring home to us that the days of luxurious sea travel, of a
la carte restaurants, and Louis Seize bedrooms were gone--at least for
a period. The prospect of a voyage of nearly two weeks was not enticing.
The ship, to be sure, was far from being the best of those still
running on a line which had gained a magic reputation of immunity from
submarines; three years ago she carried only second and third class
passengers! But most of us were in a hurry to get to the countries
where war had already become a grim and terrible reality. In one way or
another we had all enlisted.

By "we" I mean the American passengers. The first welcome discovery
among the crowd wandering aimlessly and somewhat disconsolately about
the decks was the cheerful face of a friend whom at first I did not
recognize because of his amazing disguise in uniform. Hitherto he had
been associated in my mind with dinner parties and clubs.

That life was past. He had laid up his yacht and joined the Red Cross
and, henceforth, for an indeterminable period, he was to abide amidst
the discomforts and dangers of the Western Front, with five days' leave
every three months. The members of a group similarly attired whom I
found gathered by the after-rail were likewise cheerful. Two well-known
specialists from the Massachusetts General Hospital made significant
the hegira now taking place that threatens to leave our country, like
Britain, almost doctorless. When I reached France it seemed to me that I
met all the celebrated medical men I ever heard of. A third in the group
was a business man from the Middle West who had wound up his affairs and
left a startled family in charge of a trust company. Though his physical
activities had hitherto consisted of an occasional mild game of golf,
he wore his khaki like an old campaigner; and he seemed undaunted by
the prospect--still somewhat remotely ahead of him--of a winter journey
across the Albanian Mountains from the Aegean to the Adriatic.

After a restless night, we sailed away in the hot dawn of a Wednesday.
The shores of America faded behind us, and as the days went by, we had
the odd sense of threading uncharted seas; we found it more and more
difficult to believe that this empty, lonesome oce