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